In Unlikeliest Places
by frustratedfruitloop
Summary: At 23 years old, ex-ANBU Captain Naruto is nothing like his former self. Can a year-long sojourn at Hogwarts, protecting a certain Harry Potter, restore him? --divergence starts at Naruto ch405-06, sixth year Hogwarts--
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, own Harry Potter or Naruto. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros., and Kishimoto-sensei respectively. I borrow for my own amusement. Anything unfamiliar to you in this story probably belongs to me.

Summary: At 23 years old, ex-ANBU Captain Naruto is nothing like his former self. Can a year-long sojourn at Hogwarts, protecting a certain Harry Potter, restore him?

**IN UNLIKELIEST PLACES**  
PROLOGUE – SEVEN YEARS

.

_I looked for the fair-fringed gentian  
In the haunts where once it grew, _

_But I found no trace in the likeliest place,  
Though I searched till the falling dew. _

_So back I turned to the city,  
And was nearing the busy throng, _

_When the waning light revealed to my sight  
The flower I had sought so long. _

_Henry Hildreth Piper_

.

Seven years ago, if someone had told Hatake Kakashi that he would be taking up semipermanent residence up at the Hokage Tower, serving as the sixth Hokage of Konoha, he would have tied them up and would have had them sent to Ibiki, no questions asked. That was seven years ago. Now, he quietly surveyed the curved office, which was steadily darkening against the setting sun, inwardly relieved that the way he rearranged the office left many memories undisturbed. The scrolls the Sandaime had inscribed in his lifetime, his pipe, and his crystal ball were long since squirreled away in one of the rooms only Hokage were privy too. He had placed the unimportant file cabinets in the unobtrusive corner where Minato-sensei once took great delight in napping when he thought no one was looking. That was also where Tsunade-sama kept her not-so-secret hoard of sake, in a box, under a haphazard pile of paperwork. There was a six-foot long poster of the Icha Icha Violence movie plastered over the recently-repaired wall. It gave the illusion that the Rokudaime Hokage was still an easy-going man, and still had his quirks. In fact, it had been a long time since Kakashi read any Icha Icha novels.

Seven years ago, in Kakashi's mind, the Rokudaime would be Naruto, determined, vibrant and passionate Naruto. It would be with great pomp and ceremony that Tsunade would relinquish her seat to her pseudo-younger brother, telling the general populace that she was tired of "damn paperwork and sake-less afternoons, and this brat can get all of that and more for all I care." It was with less ceremony that Tsunade had told Kakashi, "I'm tired. I don't think I can do this anymore." Kakashi nodded. He understood. He didn't need Obito's eye to see the woman Tsunade had become: exhausted and even more jaded than she had been before she became Hokage.

A gentle swirl of leaves alerted him to the arrival of ANBU Captain Fox, arguably one of Konoha's best ANBU operative. Listed as the second-most wanted ninja in enemy bingo books--second only to him, the famed Copy-nin--, he was vaguely described as blond. His mask had crescent slits as eyeholes, and an elongated canine mouth curved up in a menacing leer. It was unanimously regarded by all as creepy. Not much was known about him; few faced him in battle and lived to tell the tale. No one had seen his face for years. Only a few remembered who he was anymore--Tsunade, Jiraiya, the former ANBU Captain Tenzou, and him. Others speculated about the disappearance of the village's number one prankster and the subsequent appearance of ANBU Fox, but they remembered Jiraiya had taken the boy out of their hair to train him and supposed that he had no reason to come back.

"What is the meaning of this, Hokage-sama?" The seemingly-innocent question was practically spat out, and the 'Hokage-sama' laced with enough venom to make Kakashi flinch internally. He noticed his blond ANBU's fingers tightening around a black scroll. Every ANBU was given one of these eventually: honored dismissals from their positions. One could easily go crazy in ANBU; in fact, it was a widely held opinion that you were already crazy if you chose to join ANBU. It was a thankless, gruesome but necessary job.

Kakashi was suddenly struck by the odd familiarity of their positions. It felt like a lifetime ago that the Sandaime sat in this seat, trying to do the same thing Kakashi was doing now, and Kakashi in ANBU Fox's position, angry and convinced he was doing it for the good of Konoha. He felt so old, felt the weight of several lifetimes come crashing down simultaneously on him. How many wars had he fought? How many Hokages had he served? Weren't Hokages supposed to outlast regular shinobi lifetimes? And yet, Minato-sensei died a decade younger than he was, the Sandaime had died in a battle he was not supposed to fight, and Tsunade had seen too many horrors, most of them she had signed and legalized, and the atrocity of what she had committed drove her to leave.

He steepled his fingers, an act which shocked him with its frequency especially since he became Rokudaime. He frowned thoughtfully at the silent figure before him. In his mind, he could picture an orange-loving, ramen-eating genin who enjoyed shouting his name from every rooftop, and his heart suddenly felt heavy. How did it come to this? "Naruto," he began, wondering about the best way to go about this. "When did you join ANBU?"

This was a rhetorical question. They both knew the answer. Kakashi remembered Naruto's face, partly hidden by shadows, lift up and saw the desperate determination and grim pride swimming in his eyes, his trembling hands as he accepted the kitsune mask like a lifeline. He watched his student's face and identity fade into blood, bone-white and sharp teeth. He remembered sitting at the Memorial Stone, for once ignoring the names that haunted his thoughts and thinking instead of how he regretted not stopping his idiot student when he should have been proud.

"Seven years ago, Hokage-sama."

"And are you aware that ANBU members usually stay on duty for only two to three years before getting discharged?"

"I'm sure you are aware that there were extenuating circumstances, sir," Naruto replied curtly.

_"There was a small matter of a fox."_ His reply to the same question the Sandaime had posed him.

"Yes, extenuating circumstances indeed." His one eye flicked briefly over to the Icha Icha-covered wall and the quiet village below them before zeroing on his student again. Kakashi could have brought up several different arguments; he wasn't called a genius for nothing. Howevere, calling up legal issues and talks of psychological imbalance would do nothing to help Naruto in his current condition. Better do it like the Sandaime did: make Naruto angry and confused and think Kakashi an absolute bastard, than have Naruto go insane from continuing with his sham of a life.

"Why did you join ANBU, Naruto?"

_"Why did you join ANBU, Kakashi?"_

The answer was immediate, said in a tone that suggested it had been repeated over and over like a mantra. "To protect Konoha."

"Until the day you can say that to my face with absolute honesty, Uzumaki Naruto, you are hereby banned from rejoining ANBU. Burn that mask, Captain. You will assume jounin duties starting tomorrow."

There was a pause, pregnant with anger and familiar tendrils of red chakra. Then Naruto disappeared in another swirl of leaves, the scroll crumpling in his grip.

Kakashi sighed in the darkening night.

.

.

.

NOTE: Believe it or not, this was supposed to be a simple, run-of-the-mill Naruto-goes-to-Hogwarts-and-wreaks-havoc story. That is, until I wondered what happened to make Naruto change into the man he is in the story. Once I somehow figured it out, the story just wouldn't _move_. I kept writing different versions of the first chapter, some with Naruto having a team or going solo... Gah, it was maddening. I left it. Then suddenly, after quite a number of weeks, my brain stopped functioning properly and said, "Hey, what if Kakashi became Rokudaime? :D"

Everything came so easily after that particular brainfart and I even ended up creating an incredibly complex backstory just to make Naruto's change believable and to make Kakashi's promotion to Hokage a logical choice. (And the thing is, I probably won't even write that story. Hahaha.) This story is, after all, just a Harry Potter and Naruto friendship fic, although there will probably be a lot of foreshadowing for the sequel, which I do hope to write. I still have to finish this. -_- The backstory will be elaborated as we go along, and the next chapter already offers you really vague hints as to what must have happened during the seven year gap in this story.


	2. Chapter 1: Dropping Bombs

Standard disclaimer applies.

**IN UNLIKELIEST PLACES**  
CHAPTER ONE – DROPPING BOMBS

.

As usual, Sakura got up fifteen minutes before her alarm went off. Her right hand mechanically reached for the frog-shaped clock and turned the alarm off. She didn't know why she still bothered with it really. Maybe because it had been a present, and it was one of the only visible reminders she still had of his existence.

She sat up on her bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. The early morning light filtered through her blinds and bathed her modest two-room apartment in sickly yellow-gray. Mornings were always bleak in Konoha now--not that the rest of the day was any better. It had been two years since the War had ended, yet that looming darkness never seemed to lift. Children were subdued, more serious at seven years old than they had ever been when they were twelve. She never thought she'd miss pranksters like Konohamaru that seemed to pop up in every generation.

She stretched and meandered into the bathroom, washing her face and brushing her teeth robotically. She noted the dark circles under her eyes, the paleness of her skin, making her pastel pink hair and light jade eyes look even more washed out than before. She changed into a dark red top and black knee-length pants, and took the stained lab gown hanging from the back of the bathroom door, vaguely noting that she needed to do the laundry. She strode out, grabbing a ration bar from the pantry as an afterthought. Her hitai-ite was inside her pocket--she hadn't been on a mission for so long she didn't feel like a proper kunoichi anymore. She didn't bother locking on the way out. In a village swarming with shinobi, locks were a ridiculous security measure. If you wanted someone out, then seals were the way to go. Preferably the kind that spat out fire and electrocuted the person who dared to get in a 1 foot distance of the walls that cornered your apartment. There was nothing important in there anyway--a few scrolls on healing jutsu carefully locked by a blood seal, pictures of happier days with Team 7, and a pile of ration bars and instant ramen.

It was quiet; no one was out yet. At that moment, the village felt oddly peaceful, buildings washed in the beginnings of a particularly sunny day. Sakura felt her lips shape a small smile as she started to walk in the direction of the hospital.

Her good cheer was eventually ruined when she turned right, down the deserted Uchiha District, and spied a couple of teenagers beating up a child two sizes smaller than them. She narrowed her eyes, lips thinning. Fucking kids, she thought, striding towards the brats.

"What are you doing?" she asked coldly, once she was behind the two teenagers' backs.

The brats stiffened, but relaxed when they saw her. There was something to be said about the effect of pink hair on boys who didn't know any better.

"Just getting rid of some trash, 'nee-chan!" The one on the right said, kicking the child on the stomach. The child slumped forward, breathing shallow. Teardrops stained the sidewalk. The boy's spiky brown hair lent him a Kiba-esque appearance and she sincerely hoped the kid wasn't his since she would most definitely end up killing his heir. Then she remembered Kiba's daughter had inherited his wife's platinum blonde hair, and her qualms disappeared.

Just then, the child stood up shakily and made to run away while the two teenagers were otherwise occupied. However, the other boy sensed this and grabbed his thin wrist. Sakura got a good look at the kid then. He was scrawny--all the skin on his body was stretched over his skeletal system and there was nothing in between. He wore a shirt that would have probably fit normal boys his age but made him look more like a bony infant. His upper lip was split, and a thin rivulet of blood was running down his jaw. His dark blue hair was tamed with mats of dirt and dried blood. Despite that, there wasn't a scar to be found anywhere on him. The bruise around his left eye was rapidly unswelling, and lightening up. His eyes, Sakura noted with half-surprise and half-horror, were slanted and his irises were thin and elongated. Like a cat's.

She gasped.

"You all right, 'nee-chan?" The Kiba look-a-like asked.

The other boy finally spoke. "It's all right, 'nee-san. He won't hurt you, will you, you dem--"

BAM!

The two boys' eyes widened almost comically at the crater the size of a small meteor lying where there had been a sidewalk just a few seconds ago. Suddenly, they could sense the killer intent rolling off the pink-haired onee-chan--scratch that--kunoichi in very large palpable waves. The temperature dropped a few degrees.

"If I see you anywhere near a 50-meter radius of this child," Sakura growled, "I will send you to ANBU after sewing together your remains, if there are any left. Now scram!"

The two brats disappeared.

Sakura chuckled darkly. "I've never seen anyone run faster than a Shunshin." She made a note to search the records later, for the parents of the two teens she had just met. By the time she was through with them, they'd be wishing for the death penalty the Sandaime promised to all who broke his law. She turned her gaze on the boy, who looked torn between running away and staying. She knelt down and tried to pat him, but the boy cringed. When he realized that there was no incoming punch or slap, he opened his light-blue eyes to apprehensively stare at Sakura.

"Hey," she said, squatting on the ground and keeping her hands to herself. "My name's Haruno Sakura. You're Soichiro, right?"

"Y-Yeah." Soichiro mumbled. "How'd you know my name?"

"Doesn't matter," Sakura forced a grin, putting the grizzled face of Danzou out of mind. "You look a bit roughed up, Soichiro-kun,"--understatement of the century, that--"d'you want to go to the hospital with Sakura-neechan? We'll patch those scratches up in no time!"

Soichiro clutched his arms closer to his frail body. "Will Fu--Fuyumi-neesan be there?"

Sakura smiled. She knew the Yamanaka; she was Ino's younger and infinitely more mild-tempered cousin. She was glad to know some things were all right in this crazy world. "Yeah, Fuyumi-neesan will be there to take care of you."

The boy's entire countenance brightened. Sakura held out her arms. "Come on, I'll get you to the hospital in no time."

Soichiro was feather-light, and he still trembled as she cradled him in her arms. Resisting the urge to hug him fiercely, she leaped onto the nearest roof and made her way to the hospital.

.

.

.

At the back of his head, Kakashi was wondering how the Sandaime managed to do this job for over two decades, give or take a few years wherein Minato-sensei took over his position. Even then, Kakashi had to wonder why he didn't hear the Third kicking and screaming as they hauled him up to his office, for a second time, to relive the torture all over again. Because it _was_ torture, of course. Any self-respecting shinobi would quail at the sight of paperwork, at the promise that _yes, I'm going to chain you to this desk until you finish me_ which would take a long time, which meant time away from training, action, pretending to be batshit crazy (a right reserved for jounin ranked and above) just to annoy your comrades, and killing people.

Was the Hokage really the strongest shinobi in the village? The strongest idiot sounded more plausible.

He leaned back in his chair, content to watch his Kage Bunshin affix the latest batch of paper with his signature. Technically, this was prohibited--there were some legalities concerning the reliability, or lack thereof, of Kage Bunshins--but Kakashi wasn't worried. All he had to do was to not get caught. And Kakashi was very, very good at that.

The village caught his wandering eyes, and his thoughts immediately focused on Konoha's recently demoted ANBU Captain. What was Naruto doing? How was he coping? Naruto had long since abandoned his rickety apartment, and his orange eyesores had hopefully decayed. ANBU had their own headquarters, in one of the hard-to-reach training grounds, where some of them chose to live. Everything any shinobi needed was provided there. And Naruto had lived there for the better part of seven years. Kakashi then realized how woefully ignorant he was of his former student's lifestyle. Did he even have clothes other than his ANBU uniform?

His train of thought was broken as he picked up a familiar chakra signature making its way down the corridor to his office. Dispersing his Kage Bunshin, Kakashi assumed an industrious position. Moments later, a knock came and the door opened. A pink head poked out of the opening. Ah, Sakura. He made a show of suddenly noticing her presence.

"Kakashi-sensei," she greeted, entering the room. Her lab gown was hanging off her right shoulder, and her hair was tied into a messy ponytail. She scrutinized the state of his desk, taking in the immaculately organized file cabinets (she twitched when she saw his six-foot long Icha Icha poster but refused to comment), the neat pile of papers and said, "It's really weird seeing you here, you know. And this office... so neat. It's really disturbing. You always did hand in the shoddiest mission reports ever. Tsunade-shishou always complained."

Ignoring the backhanded insults, Kakashi chose to drink in his former student's relaxing banter, leaning back into his chair. "Good morning to you too, Sakura," he greeted dryly.

She flushed, muttering something which sounded like a "Good morning."

"What can I do for you?" He resisted the urge to steeple his fingers. Again.

And suddenly, she was all business: jade green eyes hard, her jaw tight. "On my way to the hospital, I found Moritake Soichiro beaten by boys two times larger than he is."

He sighed. Of all the things he had thought she would bring up. "And that's not all," she continued, "judging from the bruises and scratches I found on him, it's evidently not the first time. He's more than malnourished--he's skin and bones, Kakashi-sensei! How could you let this happen to him?"

There was a time he could have shrugged off questions like this with a, "Hm? Did you say anything?" complete with flipping a page of his Icha Icha novel. That always drove everyone crazy, no matter how many times they saw it. He sighed, more audibly this time, allowing Sakura to see a bit of the exhaustion he felt. "The Sandaime, for all the reverence Konoha had for him, could only stop villagers telling Naruto exactly what he was. People are angry; no matter how much I enforce the law Sandaime made, they will always try to subvert it."

Sakura's grip on her lab gown tightened. "I know that... I just wish there was something we... I could do, you know?" She shrugged, looking upwards, blinking furiously.

"It wasn't your fault, Sakura."

"Yes it was, damn it! If I hadn't gone off and made him promise, he'd still be here today!"

"He'd still have done the same thing, promise or no, and you know it. Stop blaming yourself, Sakura. And besides," he paused, pondering the sanity of his next words. _'She'll know soon enough, and better from me than from anyone else._'

"He's not as dead as you think."

.

.

.

_"He's not as dead as you think."_

Sakura stumbled on a stray root, quite possibly the same one she tripped on when she had been running away from Kakashi-sensei during his infamous bell test. She certainly felt as unsure now as she did then. She could see the Memorial Stone sitting a some steps away from her, its jagged blackness a somehow soothing sight to behold though she did not come here often, unlike Kakashi-sensei who she knew sequestered minutes, hours tracing familiar names and remembering long-dead faces almost every day. When she visited, it was to promise Lee, Iruka-sensei, and everyone else, that she would do everything in her power not to let it happen again. Eventually though, the lack of one name would get too painful to bear and she would leave.

She had thought the council members were just bastards who wouldn't give Naruto just the slightest bit of acknowledgement, even after he rid Konoha of a large security threat. Now, she wasn't so sure. Come to think of it, Naruto's body had never been found, even though _his_ had been--or whatever had been left after Naruto's Rasenshuriken tore into it.

She stepped into the clearing, and found somebody else at the Memorial Stone. And with Kakashi's vague warning ringing in her head, she was surprisingly unsurprised when she locked gazes with Uzumaki Naruto, infamous killer of Uchiha Sasuke, who supposedly died seven years ago.

.

.

NOTE: Cliffhanger? [evil laugh] The second chapter is around 75% done, and around 25% edited. Dumbledore makes an appearance there too. I'll probably post it in 3 weeks because exams are just round the corner and I need to study. Thanks to all those who reviewed. :D I love you guys.

And to answer a few questions:

Mysteryman2000: I don't think I can write romance to save my life and so there won't be a main pairing (meaning romance won't affect the story much). There will be some side-pairings though. I haven't figured out who yet.

Everyone (screaming for my death) who's asking why I killed Sasuke: I can offer no good reason really. I don't really like Sasuke. (But I like him with Naruto? o_o) My feelings are pretty ambivalent towards him: if writers cast him into the emo, I-have-a-person-I-want-to-kill role then I don't like him, but other _nice_ versions of Sasuke are completely fine with me. That said, I really hate canon!Sasuke (as of the moment anyway—I remember I said the same thing about Kururugi Suzaku before Sunrise pulled that insane 180 out of their arses), so there. I killed him so I wouldn't think about him much. 8D

Although, don't think for a moment that killing him off was _just_ to satisfy my petty wants.


	3. Chapter 2: Getting to Know You

Standard disclaimer applies.

**IN UNLIKELIEST PLACES  
**CHAPTER TWO – GETTING TO KNOW YOU

.

People change. This is one of the most fundamental truths of life. Sakura knew this; she had witnessed many of these changes herself. She remembered carefree days, when all she worried about was how late Kakashi-sensei was going to be, or how to get Sasuke's attention focused on her, or how to make Naruto shut up for more than three minutes. Those days were so far away now; she remembered them as someone would remember a particularly good dream: fuzzy and warm, but unclear and always out of grasp.

As the war progressed, it became clear to all of the Rookie Nine (including Team Gai) that life wasn't fair, and the world would fuck them several times over even if they knew this. Lee's death was the first and it struck them the hardest for it. In the end, a shinobi who couldn't utilize his chakra was only half a shinobi, and against those—those monsters—Lee's taijutsu stood no chance. He was swatted away like a fly, protecting the evacuees.

The Rookie Nine, or what was left of them, eventually lost their smiles to the War, their eyes acquiring a hardness and coldness formerly present only in the older shinobi. The Konoha she knew as a child was long gone. The cheery atmosphere that made it one of the most beloved and prosperous of all Hidden Villages was replaced by a cloud of grim determination reminiscent of Iwa. People still did not believe that the War was over; they spoke of spies and secret plans even though negotiations had been held and treaties had been signed in triplicate. It was a pyrrhic victory. They had lost too much, and only gained a much greater burden than they had before. The teamwork that made their village so successful was now ridiculed—how can a village that reputedly values its people sacrifice its children to win the war? Were they only pawns? She wondered what the Sandaime would have thought about all of this, had he lived. Had he lived, would it have happened the way it did?

That said, to Sakura, Naruto was also a constant in her life. If life were a series of math equations, Sasuke would have been variable, others would have been variable, even she would be variable, but Naruto?

Naruto was a given—like pi, like the speed of light or free-fall acceleration. He was loud, brash, annoying and just a touch perverted, but underneath all that lay a heart of gold and a determination you would be hard pressed to find in anyone else. He was the hero any story book required. She had never seen Naruto back down, and his eyes always blazed with a ferocity that said, "You're never going to take this away from me," even when they weren't in a fight, even when he was smiling his stupid smile. To him, perhaps, all of life was a battle.

But now, as she stared into the tired blue eyes of this unfamiliar man in front of her, she was forced to accept that Naruto was only human too.

The Naruto in front of her now was nothing like the Naruto she knew. He was taller, for one. He easily towered over her, probably clocking at a height of six feet. His blond hair was longer, but only slightly tamed; it fell to his neck like a spiky mane. But the most disconcerting change was the stillness with which he conducted himself. The Naruto she knew could never sit still. He was a bundle of endless and suppressed energy, always babbling about something or another, always picking fights, always training—vibrant with the Flames of Youth, as Gai would put it. Yet in the few minutes they had spent staring at each other, this Naruto had not moved a millimeter. It was not an uncomfortable, rigid stillness, though the atmosphere between them was fraught with tension. It was the stillness of a predator, patiently waiting for the prey to make its move. An aura of killing intent draped itself around him, and it oozed towards her in small, lazy waves. She shivered despite herself when she finally took in his appearance in its entirety.

He was wearing, Sakura realized, a standard ANBU uniform. _Was that where he was all these years?_ she wondered. His sleeveless white armor was worn, but in good condition. It had scratches mostly in the chest area, but there were large gashes near his lower left torso and the area surrounding his heart. He wore the black body suit as if it were made for him; the muscles he had gained in the seven years he had disappeared were clearly visible on his lean frame. His mask was tied around his waist, but when she tried to get a good look at it, she noticed it was charred and impossible for her to make out the markings except for what could have been a sharp-toothed smile.

"Sakura," Naruto broke the silence, inclining his head. His voice was deeper than she'd remembered, but the last she'd seen Naruto he had been sixteen, still a kid. They had all been kids.

"Naruto," she replied, hoping to keep the tremor away from her voice. What had she been thinking, blindly searching for him like this? So she'd found him. Now what? What did one say to someone who willingly disappeared for seven years?

He had turned his attention to the Memorial Stone in front of them, eyes scanning the names then resting on one that was unfamiliar to her.

"Did you know him?" she ventured hesitantly.

He was silent, and then, "No, I've only worked with ANBU."

The silence stretched on like a large yawning gap. Sakura bit her lip, chewed on it nervously. She thought of all the things she could ask to dispel the tension but nothing came to mind. She thought of ramen, and asking him to eat lunch with her, but that seemed intimate. Once upon a time, Naruto would have jumped and shouted, "YATTA!" at the prospect of eating ramen _with her_. Once upon a time. A dream of long ago.

She wanted to touch him, hug him and never let him go. Did he even know what kind of loneliness he inflicted on her by leaving, by dying like that? At one point, she had a complete team. When Sasuke left, it burned but she held on to the knowledge that she still had Naruto and Kakashi-sensei and the hope that they could bring Sasuke back. But then, in a cruel twist of fate, both her teammates _died_, leaving her alone, alone to brave the horrors of war. Why? she wanted to ask. The question burned her tongue. Whywhywhy? Why did you leave? Why didn't you ever contact us? Why did you let us think you were dead? Why did you leave us?

Why did you leave _me_?

"Why?" she blurted out, but the burning did not stop. She wanted to fling all her questions at him, wanted him to confess to her. She wanted to hear platitudes, apologies and assurances that her only living teammate did not abandon her willingly.

"Why what?" he replied. His tone was nonchalant, uncaring even, but his shoulders were slightly bunched up, and his face was closed off.

"You damn know well what!" she shouted. She felt the resentment building, a secret hoard she was never aware of opened up inside. "Why did you leave? Why'd you pretend you were dead? We needed you—_I_ needed you! Damnit! We were a team, Naruto!"

His jaw clenched, and his eyes finally showed some unknown emotion, but he quickly looked away. His breathing came hard. "You wouldn't understand," he spat out bitterly.

"Try me," she challenged.

But even as the words left her mouth, Naruto had disappeared into the forest. The leaves fluttered and swirled around her like a light blanket.

Sakura bit back a scream and instead punched the nearest tree. Her sobs were muffled by the sounds of the tree as it crashed to the ground, sending birds and other creatures scattering noisily into the forest.

.

.

.

"Thank you for your hard work, Uzumaki-san," the man in front of him mumbled, steadfastly avoiding his gaze. He stamped the mission report and placed it in one pile, and quickly hollered, "Next!"

Idiot.

Naruto stuffed his hands into his pockets (a newfound habit of his—ANBU uniforms didn't have pockets) and slowly made his way out. The other ninja parted to let him through, thoroughly uncomfortable with his presence. He saw Kakashi sitting at the other mission table. A cursory glance revealed that the Hokage wasn't all there; typical of Kakashi to leave a bunshin to do his work. The bunshin's one eye curved up convincingly and gave him a jaunty little wave. He gave it the finger. The Hokage's assistant didn't even seem to have noticed that his seatmate was a bunch of lightning disguised as a human.

Idiot, he thought again.

Uzumaki-san, huh? Once upon a time, he would have worshipped the person who dared to give him such respect. Uzumaki-san, not brat, not dead last, not loser, not idiot, not demon, not murderer. But life was like that. It took years for anyone save the Sandaime to address him by his given name, many more before it was said with any semblance of affection. The thought of what he had to do to earn the respect of majority of Konoha's population, or at least, their fear, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

It had not taken long for the knowledge that Uzumaki Naruto was still alive to spread. It had only taken a very depressed Sakura in a drunken stupor to spill her guts to Yamanaka Ino, her oldest friend. That it happened in a bar filled with shinobi did not matter. He had no illusions about Ino's ability to keep a secret. If that wasn't enough, the rumor soon spread that Uzumaki Naruto was actually Konoha's revered war hero, the nameless, faceless ANBU Fox. Any hope he'd entertained that the village had overcome their prejudice against him with his actions in the last war were quickly quashed. People avoided him now, more than ever. He was the tiger in the cage, then too weak to do anything, now able to tear away the metal bars and devour them at the slightest provocation.

He tried to summon the appropriate feelings of anger, but more often than not, he agreed with them. Dark blue eyes forever haunted his dreams, mocking his tenuous hold on the monster he housed. He wasn't the tiger, but he was the cage. And sometimes, he could feel that he and the Kyuubi were mixing—he could not tell whose rage was which, what the difference was between killing an enemy shinobi to protect your home village and killing him for the joy of it.

Konoha had become suffocating. He looked down on the district that the roof he'd been standing on overlooked and tried to remember why he was still here. It would be so easy to leave, he thought, leave these stupid villagers to their own machinations and watch them fall to their own destruction. They seemed to be doing a good job of it anyway.

Suddenly, a flash of pink caught his eye and he saw Sakura exiting a nearby vegetable shop, arms loaded with paper bags. She couldn't possibly see him with all those bags covering her face, but he still made the hand motions for Shunshin, thinking, "But I have promises to keep."

He appeared in a much busier district, close to Ichiraku's. The tell-tale pop and smoke of the Shunshin alerted some people to his arrival, causing them to look up at him. Almost at once, their gazes dropped back to the ground and then they resumed whatever it was they had been doing. He sighed in frustration and Henge'd himself into an unobtrusive-looking civilian with tame dark brown hair and a sleepy look. He hopped down an empty alley and emerged beside a shop close to the ramen stand. He'd much rather go to the Hokage Monument, his favorite place to relax, but it was early afternoon and they usually had an army of chuunin and experienced genin working on repairing the damaged faces of the Shodaime and Nidaime.

Suddenly, a curious pair made its way to the stand and Naruto couldn't help but feel interested. The still-unfamiliar white-robed figure of Kakashi entered Ichiraku's with a young girl (probably around six or seven, Naruto estimated), hot at his heels. He waited a few minutes before also entering the stand.

"One pork ramen please," he ordered. Ayame took his order with a jovial "Hai!" She was still as enthusiastic as ever, but he suspected it was for the customers' sakes. Her face was gradually acquiring wrinkles despite her age, and gray had started to appear in her hair. Her father's death had hit her hard.

"How're you going to eat if you have that stupid mask on, 'jii-san?" The girl's high-pitched voice reached his ears.

Naruto could imagine Kakashi's eye twitching. He accepted his bowl of ramen with a smirk that looked out of place in his disguise. He quickly smothered it by taking a slurp of noodles.

"Maa, Haruhi-chan, I'm really not that old yet... you don't have to call me 'jii-san."

"I'm not stupid. You have white hair." The girl, Haruhi, pointed out stubbornly. "And don't call me Haruhi-chan. I like Haru better."

He turned glancingly in their direction. The girl was thin, and her lank, sandy brown hair was kept in pigtails to keep it from framing her already small face. She stared intensely at the Rokudaime, who had made no motion to eat his ramen. Her eyes were darting from her own bowl of ramen to his and then his face mask, waiting.

"I'll call you Haru when you stop calling me 'jii-san, Haruhi-_chan_."

"_Don't call me Haruhi-chan, you old man!_" Haruhi shouted, crossing her arms and frowning ferociously at him. The frown, however, turned out to be mostly a pout, and Kakashi chuckled lightly. Naruto frowned when he saw the eye bags beneath the girl's eyes, forming a darkening ring around her jade eyes.

"Aren't you going to eat?" He heard Kakashi ask. "Your noodles are getting cold."

"I'm not eating til you're eating, old man!"

"Me? But I'm already done eating."

Ah, Kakashi had pulled the fast one on her. To this day, Naruto still had not discovered how his old sensei did it. He had perfected it into an art form, perhaps even a jutsu—though a very useless one at that. Naruto admitted that he was still curious even though he thought he was over that particular habit of Kakashi's.

"WHAT!" The girl exploded. He could imagine her scrambling up the wooden chair to look at Kakashi's empty bowl. "How'd you do that?! You didn't even take off your mask!"

"Didn't I?" Kakashi asked airily. "Now eat up, Haruhi-chan."

"DON'T CALL ME -CHAN!" She retorted, cheeks slightly pink. But she sat back down and, with a final huff, began eating her noodles.

There was silence for a while, save for Naruto and Haruhi slurping on their noodles, before a chuunin messenger burst into the stand, panting. "Hokage-sama!" he called.

The companionable silence turned distinctly uncomfortable before Naruto registered the unmistakable sound of several coins clattering on the wood.

"Duty calls," Kakashi groaned before standing up. "I'll be seeing you around, Haruhi-chan. Ayame-kun, one more bowl for Haruhi and the man in the corner. Enjoy yourselves, it's on me."

He ruffled the girl's hair, as Haruhi struggled in vain to get away from him ("Stop—not a kid—stop it!"). His eye curved up into its inverted U shape. As he lifted up the cloth covering the stand, he looked over at Naruto and gave him a knowing smile.

.

.

.

"Now, what was so important that you had to interrupt my lunch, Konohamaru-kun?" he asked his assistant once he was again ensconced in his office.

Konohamaru eyed him in frustration. "Oh, you mean aside from you skipping paperwork again, Hokage-sama? No, I wouldn't trouble you for anything as _trivial _as that. Kami help us."

The Rokudaime Hokage grinned unrepentantly. He had received this lecture before. Konohamaru would pull a Shizune and rant all about his unbecoming habits, and end it with, "Just you wait, you lazy old man, I'm going to become Nanadaime yet!" While baiting his young assistant was indeed fun, Kakashi admitted that it was more of the fact that Konohamaru resembled Naruto so much that he continued doing so.

Speaking of his former student, Kakashi couldn't help but wonder what he thought of the little Haruhi, or whether he'd seen the others yet.

"... Are you even listening to me?" the spiky-haired Jounin asked, sighing as he noticed the typical signs that Kakashi's thoughts had begun wandering.

"You were saying I'm even worse than Tsunade-sama could ever hope to become?" the masked man supplied helpfully.

Konohamaru rolled his eyes. "No. I said we have a new client. He's a strange one. He asked to see the Sandaime. Must've been one of Jiji's friends or something."

Kakashi blinked. Well, this was new. "Well, you should've told me that right away," he informed his assistant, who was beginning to sputter with rage, matter-of-factly.

After a few moments, Konohamaru gave it up as a lost cause and got his temper under control. He pulled a file from the table and began reading it. "Okay. The client's Albus Dumbledore—strange name, I know—and he seems to be from the Outside. Kotetsu-san reported seeing a chakra stick on his person, y'know, like that mad guy in that legend of Nidaime?[1] The one that bullied him into giving him an army of shinobi? Then the Nidaime kicked his ass to kingdom come and lived happily ever after. That kind of Outsider."

Kakashi was vaguely aware of that legend but he had rarely paid attention to stories when he was young, so he sent Konohamaru away to fetch the man without the slightest idea of what exactly he was dealing with. When Albus Dumbledore appeared at his doorway, if his jaw had been in the habit of dropping, it would have. As it was, his visible eye just widened a notch wider.

The man in front of him was something out of a storybook. (He'd read that one book about a man named Merlin, who could do all sorts of things with chakra, except he called it magic...) The report from Konohamaru-kun saying that this man was probably from the Outside was suddenly given a lot of credence. His clothes were outlandish; he was clad in a deep purple robe, which flowed over to the floor and dragged behind him as he moved. A pointed, conic hat of the same color was balanced precariously on his head. And he was old. White hair crowned his head and hung from his jaw line, and fell way below his waist. He couldn't imagine the number of years it would have taken to grow a beard that long. He was unbelievably old, maybe even centuries old.

To most shinobi, to have lived beyond forty years old would be a cause for celebration. Death was an accepted phenomenon in their profession. You could die as soon as you passed your genin exam, or maybe even before then. At the end of any Chuunin Exam, more than half of the applicants would probably be injured beyond help or would be dead, killed at the hands of the opposing teams. Most shinobi die as genin, as inexperienced and idealistic children. Most shinobi who lived to become jounin or experience the horrors of war consider this a small mercy. This did not mean, however, that shinobi did not die after making chuunin. You can die any time. Death was unpredictable, no matter how you fight it, it would come for you eventually.

He had seen many shinobi fend off death before, in manners too gruesome and stomach-turning to dwell on. He could name a few on the fly. Orochimaru, Kakuzu, Hidan... Orochimaru he could handle—he had grown up knowing tales of the infamous Sannin, and experiments on humans were quite... normal, when you put them beside Kakuzu's 'hearts' or Hidan's Jashin. But whatever the means had been, it was clear that they had, in one way or another, sacrificed an integral part of their humanity.

But this man in front of him was none of those. Albus Dumbledore, if that were really his name, was really just a man who lived long enough to be anyone's grandfather. It was mind blowing. Kakashi could not begin to imagine how Outsiders lived for them to sustain life this long.

He suddenly realized that he had been silent for over a minute, lost in his musings. He coughed. "I'm sorry, Dumbledore-san. Please take a seat."

To his surprise, Dumbledore bowed deeply before taking his seat. His eyes, Kakashi noticed, were twinkling behind half-moon glasses.

"I understand that you have visited Konoha under the impression that Sarutobi, our third Hokage, was still alive," Kakashi said. "Unfortunately, he died a decade ago, protecting our village when it came under siege from neighboring villages. My name is Hatake Kakashi. I am the sixth Hokage of Konoha. What is your business with us?"

For a moment, Dumbledore positively withered. He became aware of the radiant aura that surrounded the man in that instant it was gone. Dumbledore was powerful, and most possibly a great leader in the Outside. He would regret it if Dumbledore had less-than-amiable thoughts about his village; it would be a loss of a potentially great ally.

"Sarutobi was a dear friend of mine. I met him when he was visiting Scotland. I taught him for a while—he was a most eager student especially in Divination.[2]" Dumbledore bowed his head before continuing, "My condolences. His death was probably a very big loss to you."

"It was," Kakashi replied. He tried searching for any sign of falsehood coming from the old man. There was none. Either he was sincere or a very good actor. "Thank you for your kind words."

"My original intention in coming here was to request a favor from Sarutobi, but now that he is dead, I think it best that we start from the beginning."

Kakashi nodded to show that he was listening.

"I am a wizard. Sarutobi told me shinobi had no notion of what wizards or witches are, but you have more or less grown up with tales about what magic is. Simply put, a wizard has magic, and can channel it using a wand or by concentrating very hard. It is something akin to your chakra. As of now, theorists are still studying the origin of magic and its composition and there simply haven't been any breakthroughs in research so far, so I am ill-equipped to tell you what the exact difference is."

Kakashi was sure his face betrayed nothing of his disbelief (that's what he had the face mask for after all), but Dumbledore still smiled and reached for a pocket in one of the folds of his robe. He pulled out a thin... well, there was no other way to put it for Kakashi... it was a twig, a varnished eleven-inch, white twig, but a twig nevertheless. The chakra stick from Kotetsu's report.

"This is a wand. Sarutobi didn't believe it the first time I explained it to him either," he told Kakashi with a small wink. He waved the twig around and said something unintelligible, and a flock of birds burst from thin air, and started flying around his office, chirping noisily. A few of them perched on his file cabinets and started hopping aimlessly. A few spotted the open window and took off into the outside.

He found himself asking, "Are these real?" _Yes, smooth move, Kakashi._

"No, these are magical constructs, illusions if you will. They'll disappear in a few minutes. To create something, that is, to transform magic into mass, requires a tremendous amount of power and concentration," Dumbledore explained.

Kakashi nodded. "Please continue."

"I am the Headmaster of a prominent wizarding school called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Several decades ago, a man who calls himself Lord Voldemort surfaced and started terrorizing the citizens of the magical community. A majority of our citizens are Muggle-born, meaning they were born magical without any magical ancestry. Muggles are those without any magical abilities. On the other hand, Squibs are those born from magical families but by some anomaly of fate, have no drop of magic in them. Purebloods, those whose ancestries can be traced to more than ten generations, generally find this an affront to their heritage and culture, and supported Voldemort's rise to power and his efforts to rid our world of Muggleborns, Squibs, and Muggles.

"When his efforts in legislating the purge of Muggleborns was going too slowly, he started pursuing other means. He began attacking Muggleborns, even going so far as to killing whole families at a time. He also attacked those who opposed his cause, even if they were purebloods. Alongside this, he had also started making himself immortal. Those were dark times. His reign was horrible indeed. It came to an abrupt end when he chose to attack the Potters. After he had disposed of Lily and James Potter, he shot the Killing Curse at their infant son, Harry. For reasons unknown, the Avada Kedavra, or the Killing Curse, hit Harry's forehead and rebounded. Lord Voldemort was hit with the backlash of the curse and disappeared.

"The general population considered him dead for over a decade, but his efforts in making himself immortal were not in vain. He lived on, as a spirit, possessing other bodies and searching for ways to regain his old body. He finally succeeded two years ago, in Harry Potter's fourth year at Hogwarts. We were hosting a tournament, and a servant of his had successfully snuck in and impersonated one of our professors. He successfully kidnapped Harry and used his blood in order to recreate his body. Our Minister of Magic did not believe us that Lord Voldemort was alive and had returned to power.

"A year later, at the end of Harry's fifth year, Voldemort made a public appearance in the Ministry lobby and everyone was finally forced to accept that he was back. Ever since then, he has made overt shows of power, and has amassed all his old followers. It is the beginning of Harry's sixth year now, and I fear for his life. Ever since he was a baby, he has already been considered by the entire wizarding community as a symbol. He is their savior. Voldemort has been aggressively pursuing Harry's death, to make a statement and to remind the world of his power. To lose Harry would be devastating.

"This is why I am compelled to hire a guard for Harry. Hogwarts is one of the safest places in our community, but it cannot offer much in terms of protecting a single individual. Armies can be protected within its walls, when the attacks are large in scale, but Hogwarts is as open to subterfuge and deceit as any other place is."

If he had been a lesser shinobi, Kakashi's head would be reeling. But had he been one, he would not be Rokudaime Hokage today. Kakashi ignored the extraneous information. He didn't need to know what muggles or magic was, or even try to understand half of what the old man was saying. If he was telling Kakashi everything, that is. He had a sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore was hiding something. Clients usually had their secrets anyway, and shinobi were taught at an early age not to take the client's words as they were. Look underneath the underneath.

However, unearthing the salient details, he thought with almost sadistic satisfaction, would fall to whomever he assigned to this mission.

And the mission was a simple thing (in theory anyway, and Kakashi knew how everything could go wrong with theories). Albus Dumbledore needed a bodyguard to protect Harry Potter from a dangerous megalomaniac named Lord Voldemort.

"I would be happy to help, Dumbledore-san," he began, "however, our village is still recovering from a major war. Most of our forces are out in the field, stopping small skirmishes, or rebuilding the village. We cannot send out a team of shinobi for your purposes. The most I can spare is a jounin-ranked ninja."

"My boy!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "One shinobi is quite enough. Harry is a difficult case. He views any effort to protect him as coddling, and will do anything to sabotage it. Who did you have in mind?"

In one day, he'd been called both an old man and a boy. He sighed internally. He supposed Dumbledore was old enough to call anyone a child but still...

His thoughts inevitably strayed to Uzumaki Naruto, as they were wont to do these days. Being out of ANBU had not helped Naruto in the least. He had grown more taciturn and had refused contact with everyone from the Rookie Nine and Team Gai. Kakashi found that he couldn't blame him; _he_ had been like that once. The villagers' reaction to his continued existence probably didn't help either.

Naruto had been taking a lot of missions that took him out of Konoha for days on end; Kakashi put a stop on that lately. But perhaps, that was exactly what Naruto needed. A break. Some time out of Konoha. Away from prying questions and wary glances.

Finally, he spoke, "The shinobi I am thinking of is Uzumaki Naruto. He is a jounin, formerly captain of ANBU. I was forced to take him off ANBU because he had overstayed the number of years for ANBU duty, but rest assured that he is still one of the best we have to offer. He specializes in large-scale, destructive and offensive attacks, but over the years, he has amassed a repertoire of low-key techniques to make him a well-rounded shinobi. He excels in stealth, speed, information-gathering and close-range combat. However, following his removal from ANBU, he has a bit of trouble interacting with people but he was good with children when he was younger."—what an outrageous lie, Kakashi thought—"I believe this will be a good experience for him."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I don't mean to question your judgment, Hatake-san, but can I meet this Uzumaki fellow?"

"It is no problem, Dumbledore-san," he assured him, making a hand signal to his ANBU guard to go and get Naruto. There was no sign that the ANBU was ever there, or that he had ever left, save for the sudden lack of one more chakra signature in the room. He idly wondered whether Albus Dumbledore had noticed his guard. "While we wait, would you like some tea?"

He looked around his office for tea, but he wasn't much of a tea person and didn't make room for a stash of tea leaves. He continued awkwardly, "I'll send my assistant for some."

"No problem, my boy," Dumbledore said cheerily. He pulled out his wand again and made some more motions, and an ornate porcelain tea pot, steaming at the spout, and two equally ornate tea cups with handles appeared on his desk. He raised his eyebrows.

"This is Earl Gray," Dumbledore explained, pouring some into both cups.

"This is not a 'magical construct', I hope?" Kakashi asked jokingly, taking a cup, but making no motion to pull down his face mask. There was a reason why he did not appreciate tea: he ate and drank in the blink of an eye, so all tea tasted the same in the end.

Dumbledore chuckled. "No, this is a conjuration of a different sort. You see, the tea and the pot and the cups already exist somewhere else, specifically in my office back in Scotland. The spell I used simply manipulates space-time in order to bring the tea here in such a short amount of time."

Kakashi leaned forward, his one eye gleaming in anticipation. What manner of things could he learn from Dumbledore? Perhaps he could use the knowledge to improve his Mangekyou Sharingan. "That's very interesting, Dumbledore-san. Exactly how does this spell work?"

"Cookie?" Dumbledore offered, gesturing to a plate of cookies he just conjured. "That's a rather hard question to answer actually. Hmm, let me see..."

While the wizard stroked his beard in search of an answer, Kakashi quickly drew back his face mask and downed the cooling tea in one gulp. 'Yep, they all taste the same,' he thought, sighing.

.

.

It was a testament to ANBU Bear's tracking skills that he found Naruto within three minutes after the Rokudaime had given his order. Or perhaps it was because his former Captain was visibly lounging around the Hokage Monument, his back flat against the stone head of the Sandaime. It was strange, he mused as he stared at his captain's shock of yellow hair, to know who your captain had been. Most dealings in ANBU were under a need-to-know basis. Your comrades' identities were not a need-to-know—you were expected to work well with anyone, emotions and personalities aside. ANBU was all about skills, talents and secrets. Records about your time in ANBU are confidential, even after you have been dismissed.

His time under ANBU Captain Fox was terrifying. The man was a taskmaster, cold and unyielding. He did not allow for any mistakes; every mission was to be completed perfectly. No stray kunai to be found within the premises of the politician you just murdered, no one was allowed to see you and be left alive. "Leave absolutely no evidence that Konoha was behind this," he often said. As if to absolutely contrast the harsh reign of Fox, their new captain, Deer, was lax. His only comment on the occasional mess up was, "Tch, how troublesome." Bear often suspected that Deer was a Nara, although which one it was he couldn't tell.

When the rumor came out that ANBU Fox was actually Uzumaki Naruto, to say he had been shocked would have been an understatement. However, to be fair, he would probably have been just as surprised to know that it had been one of the many seemingly-harmless chuunins, or Maito Gai—well, maybe more surprised if it were Gai, he amended. He had been content in the knowledge that he would never know who his comrades in ANBU were. Naturally, he had been suspicious at first, but all the pieces of the puzzle had fit. The Hokage himself had not come out with an official statement about it.

And then there was Naruto himself. He had suddenly come back from wherever he had been (assuming he hadn't been in ANBU) and he _had_ changed. There was no denying that. Instead of the boisterous prankster he'd remembered from his Academy days, there was now a cold, withdrawn man who seemed to only live for missions. That seemed to match perfectly with Fox's clinical personality. He still didn't understand what could have happened, and he didn't pretend he ever would. But he did understand that the man in front of him was not a demon, nor had he ever been. It was unfair of the villagers to think of him as such. Unforgivable, even.

But there was nothing he could do about it. He hopped from the branch he'd been crouching on to the place where Naruto was lying down. Or had been lying down. His former captain now stood in front of him, slouching slightly. His hands were nestled in his pockets and he was staring off at the space above ANBU Bear's right shoulder. After a moment, his blue eyes redirected their gaze to his mask, running over the red and brown curves that stained the bone-white.

Bear thought of his captain's mask, the leering, bloody fox, and how it had always commanded in him a strange sort of fear. He wanted that mask back. Uzumaki Naruto's eyes scared him than any ANBU mask ever could, their piercing cuprous blue reminding him of how blue the sky had been when they had made the sacrifices to avert the Massacre. His heart was heavy in his chest.

Bear lowered his gaze, and even if he was masked, he was sure Naruto had sensed it.

"ANBU-san," the blond man greeted politely.

"Naruto-san," he returned. "The Hokage wishes for your presence immediately."

Bear raised his eyes, and saw a flicker of a frown cross his old captain's face.

"Understood," he replied absentmindedly. Then in a swirl of dry leaves Naruto was gone.

Bear lingered for a few moments, raising his head to look at the sky. The sun was setting, the clouds drenched in gold and orange. Beyond, the orange sky was fading to midnight blue. There were rain clouds in the distance, gray and powerful. He shook his head. He wondered what Naruto saw through his blue eyes.

.

.

.

Just as Dumbledore was starting to explain magical theory concerning space-time ('To a shinobi, no less!' he thought with amusement. 'How I wish wizard folk were as interested in magic as this man is.'), a small wind gathered at the center of the room, swirled, and suddenly he was looking at a tall man with messy blond hair, dressed in the customary dark green vest and navy blue body suit.

"Naruto," Kakashi began in a tone that he could identify as fond exasperation. "Ever heard of knocking?"

"I was told that you wanted to see me _immediately_, Hokage-sama," the man, Uzumaki Naruto, replied dryly. Albus was suddenly reminded of Severus Snape—a blond, blue-eyed Severus Snape. His hearty chuckle drew the attention of the two shinobi.

"Is there something wrong, Dumbledore-san?" Kakashi asked.

"Nothing is wrong, my boy," he answered, smiling. "I just had an amusing thought."

"Very well then. Naruto, this is Albus Dumbledore, a wizard and master of a wizard school. Dumbledore-san, this is Naruto, the Jounin I was thinking of assigning for your mission." Naruto gave him a curt nod. Kakashi continued, "Do you want to see a demonstration of his skills, or..."

But Albus shook his head. He had already sent out a weak Legilimency probe, skimming the surface thoughts of the man in front of him. Naruto's blue eyes remained as they were, telling him that he had not sensed the intrusion. Kakashi continued to brief Naruto about the upcoming mission, equally oblivious. This was not something he particularly liked doing, but it needed to be done especially when assessing the motives of strangers.

The man was angry, and Albus was once again reminded of Severus. His thoughts had undercurrents of loathing and frustration, and a deep inconsolable pain. However, there was nothing that overly worried Albus; this man would do the job, if asked. He was about to pull back when he touched upon something... different. _Alien._ It was red, angry and _ancient_. It hated—no, _loathed_—the world, wanted it to spiral into destruction—blood, carnage, the world up in fire and smoke—and it sensed him. The thing, that ancient, feral thing, reared back and snarled at his invasion.

"Whatever it is that you're doing," the guard's cold tone broke through his thoughts. "I suggest you stop."

He quickly cut the connection and found himself shaking despite his efforts to still himself. _What_ was _that_?

"What were you doing to my shinobi, Dumbledore?" The Hokage demanded, standing up and fixing him with a one-eyed glare.

"He was snooping in my mind," Naruto supplied after a moment's silence. "My... tenant sensed his presence."

"I apologize for my intrusion, I was simply trying to determine—"

If possible, the masked man's countenance turned frostier. "Save it! I do not want to hear your excuses." he hissed, sitting back down and rubbing his temple. "I will honor your request for a guard this time, out of respect to Sandaime-sama, but I suggest you wizards tread carefully next time."

"Naruto!" he barked. "This is a year-long bodyguard mission Outside of the continent. Ranked A-class or higher. Do you have any objections?"

"None, Hokage-sama."

"Very well, pack whatever you need to and come back." Kakashi turned his gaze to him. "I assume you will be leaving immediately?"

"Yes, we will be traveling by Portkey," Albus replied evenly.

He did not notice when Naruto had disappeared, though the room seemed to shrink around him and the Hokage. The silver-haired man was radiating a suffocating intent, though it was quickly subsiding as the man's glare turned into a more assessing one.

Albus was silent.

After a while, he spoke, "What you saw or felt in Naruto's mind is none of your business. Rest assured that it will be of no consequence in this mission. I understand why you did it, Dumbledore, but understand this: Once a shinobi is bound by contract, he will fulfill it no matter what personal misgivings he may have about the entire business. I hope this will curb your desire to look into minds in the future. It is not looked lightly upon here, and not in your part of the world either, I dare say."

"I apologize for my actions, Kakashi-san. It will not happen again."

Kakashi's one eye stared at his for what seemed like eternity, before he dropped his black gaze and said, "Let's discuss the payment now, shall we?"

When Naruto reappeared, it was almost as if he never left. Albus had expected at least a backpack for his things. He looked at Kakashi, who didn't seem fazed in the least. The silver-haired Hokage stood up to clap Naruto on the shoulders and whisper something into his ear.

Blue eyes narrowed, and then, "I wish I can say the same thing for you, Sensei. Have fun with your paperwork," Naruto finished with a saccharine smile.

"Whatever, Naruto," Kakashi replied, chuckling. "Dumbledore-san will be giving you all the details when you arrive. I'll be coordinating with him to send you supplies when you need them. I'll also be sending someone to check up on you and to get your report every so often so be ready."

"I think it's time that we leave," he interjected hesitantly, not wanting to ruin the cheerful banter between the two. "I have some business to catch up on, and I'm afraid we might already be late for a meeting."

Kakashi nodded and Naruto stepped forward. Albus pulled out the Portkey, a thin Muggle fountain pen. The shinobi raised their eyebrows impassively.

"This is the Portkey," he said by way of explanation. "Just hold on to it and—"

—_whoosh—_

—and they were gone.

.

.

.

NOTES:

[1] Konohamaru is referring to Gellert Grindelwald, who visited the Shinobi Nations on his rise to power and foolishly tried to bully the Nidaime Hokage into giving him an army of shinobi. The Nidaime did not "kick his ass" as Konohamaru so colorfully put it, but he did encase Grindelwald's whole body (save the head) in ice and left him to stew in his own idiocy while he let the body float down the coast. If the magical community had been aware of this, they would have probably strangled the Nidaime for not just breaking his "chakra stick" in the first place, and saving them a whole lot of trouble.

[2] Sarutobi + Divination = All-Seeing Crystal Ball of Doom? :))

Some concerns I'd like to address:

1. I don't see any pairings happening (but I might, in like 10 chapters or so). Just because I am a NaruSasu or NaruSaku fan doesn't mean I'll be incorporating it into this story. If you _really_ want to see romance, a) convince me why it should be in this story, and b) be prepared to beta what will be really crappy romance scenes. :)

2. This story will probably be slow with not much action. If you've read _Pridian Moon_ by SalineRabbits (and you should!), _In Unlikeliest Places_ should be something like that. In my head, anyway.

3. I don't have a beta reader, so I really don't know how confusing this fanfic is for some of you. It's meant to be confusing, but not in the _I-have-absolutely-NO-idea-what's-going-on-!_ way, but the _I-wonder-what-happened-in-the-seven-year-time-gap_ way. So, if you have any questions, please post them, otherwise I'll assume I'm doing everything right.

Oh, by the way, is it Shichidaime or Nanadaime? O_o;

Reviews make my heart skip a beat, and make me write paragraphs at a time. Thank you to all those who have reviewed! I can only hope that this story will live up to your expectations.

A Happy New Year to everyone!

**EDITED (2/28/2009): **Changed Shichidaime to Nanadaime for reasons outlined to me by TwinTrouble. Thank you! :)


	4. Chapter 3: First Impressions

Standard disclaimer applies.

**IN UNLIKELIEST PLACES  
**CHAPTER THREE - FIRST IMPRESSIONS

.

_Note: (Concerning the time frame.) This chapter occurs sometime from late May to early July of 1996._

.

The cold touch of the tea cup between her hands jolted Molly out of whatever reverie she had been absorbed in, and she regarded the weak, morning light with some degree of surprise. Had she really been sitting here _that_ long? A glance at the kitchen clock (the one that really showed the time) told her it was currently around five o'clock in the morning, a good hour and a half past when she had come down for some tea to calm her nerves. Not thinking, she brought the tea cup to her lips and grimaced as the lukewarm beverage laced her tongue.

Arthur had Flooed late last night to inform her he'd be working on another difficult case, and that she shouldn't expect him by morning. This wasn't the first time he had to work overtime on his job. In fact, the first had been, perhaps, five years ago when a group of pranksters thought it would be fun to vandalize the walls of a nearby Muggle subdivision with magical paint. Like most magical paintings, the crude stick men they drew moved and made rude hand gestures (as well as they could with only four fingers). The paint came off after a few hours and without the Muggles ever noticing a thing, but the difficult part, Arthur said, was when the boys led them on a wild goose chase all over London before they had finally apprehended them at Knockturn Alley.

Still, Molly couldn't help but worry. Arthur had been working overtime with a frequency Molly was uncomfortable with. More and more now, some wizards with anti-Muggle sentiments, though not directly affiliated with Voldemort, had been hexing ordinary Muggle objects, lacing medicine tablets with poison, and generally raising hell. Some were foolhardy delinquents who thought it would be fun to prank the unsuspecting Muggles and get away with it, since all blame now was solely focused on Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

She looked at the other clock, hoping to see the hand labeled 'Arthur Weasley' over 'Traveling Home' but it remained firmly on 'Mortal Peril.' All hands were.

Sighing, she stood up and walked over to the sink, carrying the cup with her. She let her hands go over the practiced motions of washing dishes, pausing for a moment to Summon the teapot and Vanish the remaining tea, and let the feeling of doing something utterly mundane fill her. She closed her eyes, only to open them again when the sunlight began to warm her skin, chasing away the cold. Soon, people would be waking up. Breakfast would have to be cooked, gardening to be done, cleaning up...

"Molly-san?"

She was so surprised she almost dropped the teapot. Turning around, she saw Naruto dressed in a loose white shirt and black jogging pants, holding a bundle of laundry. Seeing him out of uniform was something of a shock to her. The last two days (or one day and one night, she amended), all she saw him in was his green-and-blue uniform with his bandana over his forehead and a perpetually impassive face. Now, however, he had clearly just gotten out of bed. His bright blond hair was mussed from sleep, his clothes rumpled but his cerulean gaze was as alert as ever. However, the soft golden sunlight leant him a touch of emotion she wished he'd display more often. It's unhealthy keeping emotions bottled up. Her thoughts immediately went to another boy with unruly black hair and green eyes.

"Yes, Naruto?" she asked.

"I was going to do my laundry but I don't know where I can," he explained. Molly noticed that his thick accent was rapidly disappearing and he had less trouble forming the words now. Whatever Dumbledore had done to help Naruto learn English, it was working exceptionally well.

She huffed. "Well, that's because you're not supposed to do the laundry while you're a guest here, Mr. Uzumaki," she declared, marching over to the surprised blond man, and snatching the bundle away before he could retaliate.

"But..." he started. "But I have important documents there!"

She raised her eyebrows. "Then you'd best take them out before they get wet, shouldn't you?" she said, raising the vest for him to take, but he shook his head, clearly defeated. She almost laughed at the mutinous expression on his face.

"Now, now, there should be something else you can do besides fight an aging woman over laundry. Ah, you asked me for old newspapers, I remember! There should be some in"—_Percy's room_, she realized with a pang. "—the third room on the left. Don't bother knocking; my third son has gotten himself his own flat so it's pretty much abandoned."

"Okay. Thank you." He gave her a small nod and made his way out of the kitchen.

She looked at his retreating back with fondness. He didn't seem so bad, really. Anyone who insisted on doing their own laundry couldn't be, in Molly's opinion. She didn't know why Ron was making such a large fuss about their new guest. He was probably just sore about being unceremoniously kicked out of his room so that Naruto could have a place to sleep in. She didn't dare bunk him in Fred and George's room—who knows what those twins of hers could have been experimenting with this time? She Banished the clothes to the hamper before getting started on breakfast.

She had just gotten around to frying the eggs when someone else entered the kitchen. She knew by the way the hairs on her neck stood up that that person was Fleur, her hopefully not-daughter-in-law.

"Good morning, Molly," _she_ greeted, managing to stretch the 'ly' so her name sounded like Mollee. It grated on Molly's nerves. Honestly, what had Bill seen in such a tart? Tonks would have been a better choice. The girl was clumsy but she had her heart in the right place.

"Good morning, Fleur," she returned briskly. "I'm afraid breakfast isn't finished yet."

"Then I shall 'elp!" she exclaimed in what Molly thought was a too-cheerful tone. "Eet 'as been a long time since I 'ave cooked—I would like to cook dishes from my 'ome country. I miss Paris so. You would love it there, Mollee!"

'I would love to see you stay there,' Molly thought, trying hard not to physically drive Fleur away from the kitchen. She piled the eggs, now a bit overcooked since Fleur had disturbed her, up on the plate and turned to face her son's girlfriend. "Now, Fleur, you're a guest here..."

"Nonsense!" the girl cried. "Look at you, you look 'orrible!" Molly winced. _Really._ "You 'ave not slept well. You must rest. I shall cook breakfast."

And without waiting for a reply, she snatched the frying pan from the Weasley matriarch's grasp and gracefully maneuvered through the kitchen, managing to find the bacon without Molly's help. Not that she would give any, Molly thought, glaring at the lithe French girl whose long blonde hair swayed with every movement, glowing in the sunlight. She felt thoroughly relieved when she glanced up at the clock again and found Arthur's hand on Traveling. Moments later, the same hand went back to Mortal Peril, but Molly was smiling as she moved to open the door.

.

.

.

'Pretty much abandoned' was right, Naruto thought when he opened the door of the third room on the left.

There were no personal belongings to speak of in the Third Son's room. The walls were mercifully void of posters that showed people dressed in bright orange robes, riding broomsticks, zooming in and out of the picture like crazy. Everything was placed in same-sized boxes, stacked in a corner beside a small desk, on which Naruto could make out the crudely engraved letters "PC" and "PW" inside an equally crude heart beneath a thin film of dust. On the other side of the room, the bed lay starch white and bare. Naruto was reminded of ANBU Headquarters and its harshly utilitarian atmosphere. Totally unlike the Youngest Son's room, where everything was haphazardly placed and virtually everything moved, even the bed covers which showed a small, winged ball zipping around. He would have to ask Molly-san whether he could transfer here.

He reached for the uppermost box, fairly certain that the Third Son was the type to label everything. He was right. Through the dust, he could make out cramped handwriting that spelled words he really shouldn't be able to understand, but instead he did. It said, "Newspapers (1988 - 1995)."

_Jackpot._

He carried the box over to the bed and ripped the tape off with a kunai. Immediately, the smell of old books filled the air. Naruto wrinkled his nose in disgust, and sat on the bed and waited for the smell to subside.

When he accepted the mission, the thought of actually learning another language never crossed his mind. It was overshadowed by relief and the thought that he wouldn't be seeing Konoha for a long time again. It was only when he and Dumbledore landed on the carpeted floor, with his head spinning and stomach turning and his hand gripping the pen so hard it was beginning to break, that he realized that he probably rushed into the entire thing and he had absolutely no idea what he had gotten himself into.

_There were people arguing in the building; the echoes of their raised voices reverberated throughout the corridor. Naruto strained his ears to hear whatever it was they were arguing about—he could usually make out the words even through walls but the words remained muffled and unintelligible. He dismissed it as the building having bad acoustics._

_Dumbledore's hand on his wrist brought him back from his thoughts. "My boy, maybe you can let go of the pen?"_

_"I'm sorry." The old man smiled in amusement as he slackened his grip and offered the slightly-bent pen to his employer. _

_"It's all right, Naruto. Though perhaps it was unwise of you to grasp something you were not totally sure of."_

_He winced—the gentle reprimand hit close to home—and the throbbing in his head intensified. _Story of my life, so far.

_Dumbledore tilted his head in the direction where the voices were originating. "It seems as if they have started the meeting without us. No matter. I have some things to give you before we proceed." _

_He paused, fishing out of his voluminous robes a picture, which Naruto accepted. It was the image of a young boy with a unruly mass of black hair sticking up in all directions. He was surprised when the boy in the picture moved, raising his head so Naruto could see thin, high cheekbones and deep green eyes behind thick round glasses. Unbidden, he thought of Sakura's light jade eyes and _his_ stupid duckbutt hair. _

_"This is my charge?" he asked._

_"Yes, that is Harry Potter. Classes will not start for another three months yet, so in the meantime, I have already made arrangements for you to stay at his friend's, Ronald Weasley's, house. Harry will join you in two weeks' time."_

_"Understood. What kind of dangers do you expect for the boy?"_

_Dumbledore started stroking his beard. "It is hard to say. Harry has the tendency to get himself into all sorts of trouble."_

_Another way of saying, "Prepare for every eventuality." This was beginning to look like a troublesome mission._

_"Are there any magical techniques I have to watch out for?"_

_"The first thing a young Auror learns in Auror Academy is that while not all spells can be countered, nearly all of them can be avoided. I trust you can do the latter quite well."_

_Naruto found that he was gradually getting irked by his employer's vague way of answering. Somehow, the man reminded him of Kakashi. On the other hand, the wisdom implicit in his statements reminded him of the Sandaime._

_"If that is all," Dumbledore continued, drawing an eleven-inch stick from his robes. "There is something else I have to give you."_

_He tapped what Naruto assumed was the wand Kakashi had told him about to his temple and after a long pause, pulled several very silver, nearly white, threads from his forehead. The threads gave off a faint glow that bounced off his employer's half-moon glasses, and illuminated the space between them. Naruto realized what an interesting image they must have made: a wizened old man and a shinobi standing there in the barely lit room, and an eerie light shining between them. The moon was rising in the window to their front, the sky turning a dark violet._

_"What is that?" he asked, a little apprehensive but his tone betrayed none of it. Surely his employer wouldn't give him anything harmful? However, what his employer considered harmful or not harmful probably would not agree with his ideas, as evidenced by how Dumbledore had casually invaded his mindscape earlier that day._

_"This is a memory, several memories in fact. Consider them as an aide for you to learn our language."_

_As if to make the old man's point, the murmured arguments were seemingly amplified, and now Naruto could clearly see, or hear, that it wasn't the acoustics--it was _him_. How blind had he gotten? This was the Outside; it was a given that they spoke another language. It was no wonder he couldn't make heads or tails of whatever the argument was._

_Dumbledore raised his wand higher, bringing the memories up to Naruto's temple. Naruto squashed the urge to leap away from him. "Wait!" he said hastily._

_His employer looked at him levelly. "This will not hurt a bit, Naruto," he said, and touched Naruto's forehead. _

_The silvery-white threads clung to his skin and slithered inwards, like worms burrowing into an apple, except he did not feel any intrusion, no gnawing sensation at his forehead or at the back of his mind. It was the first time he had ever tried to trace the movement of a memory. In the past, he had been content to assimilate his bunshins' memories without thinking. They were still his memories after all. He didn't know what he was trying to accomplish now. Perhaps catch the memories and destroy them? But as he raked his mind, he could find nothing different, nothing to suggest that there were foreign memories floating around his brain, memories that weren't his, memories that could possibly influence the way he thought. _

_His blood ran cold. The beginnings of a white-hot anger settled comfortably inside his mind, as Dumbledore bade him to follow him deeper into the house._

_There were things worse than pain._

Naruto picked up the newspaper dated June 25, 1995, skimming the headlines and pausing to watch the picture of the short man with a bowl-shaped hat ("Cornelius Fudge assures the wizarding world that Voldemort is as dead as ever," the caption read) bow and smile imperiously in black and white. Naruto had concluded some time ago that wizards were a simple-minded lot. Make anything dance or anything that's not supposed to move move and they'd take to it like a fish takes to water. Theirs was a child-like society in some respects. Personally, Naruto thought moving pictures were as distracting as hell, and equally irksome.

If he ignored, for a moment, his anger at Dumbledore, he would be impressed with the spell's success. After the initial period where he was left wondering whether the spell had worked or not, his mind started to supply him with meanings to miscellaneous words he had overheard in Dumbledore's meeting two nights ago. First a word, then several, then phrases--all of a language he wasn't supposed to understand. Piece by piece, the knowledge flooded him as if from some forgotten corner of his mind: how to pronounce words, how to write in their strange alphabet, how to piece words together to form sentences. There was even a smattering of colloquial expressions thrown in.

However, who knew what Dumbledore could have also thrown in? When he tried to say anything out loud, he would struggle to form the words; his mouth would shape the sound one way while his brain insisted there was a correct way to do it, and _that_ would only mangle the word. It was as if he had learned English long, long ago and was only rediscovering the language now. The memories were buried deep. It scared him to think what would happen if Dumbledore had thrown in any subtle influences to affect his subconscious. Actually, who was to say he did not? The man seemed to play games with everyone, almost never taking anyone seriously, and always had that damned twinkle in his eyes saying he was highly amused with something.

His train of thought was broken when he heard the sound of footsteps of someone making his way to the room. It was probably the Daughter, given the relatively light and unsure footfalls. The other girl, the blonde one, struck him as someone with a more confident, loud-and-proud walk.

The door creaked open and he was rewarded with the sight of the Daughter poking her head in.

"Um, breakfast is ready, Mr. Uzumaki," she said nervously.

He nodded, folding the newspaper and putting it back on top of the box. They silently made their way to the kitchen, which was bursting with noise. He could hear the Twins sniggering over something yet again and Molly-san scolding them for another one of their antics. He used to laugh like that too, he thought absentmindedly as the Twins' chorused laughter reached his ears. A lifetime ago. Had he ever been that young?

When they entered the kitchen, the Youngest Son—Ron, was it? Harry Potter's best friend—glared at him from across the table as the Twins oh-so-subtly steered the girl away from him, whispering theatrically, "Does Gin-Gin have a crush on Mr. Uzumaki? She's blushing! She does! Oh Gin-Gin, you'll break ickle Harrikin's heart." Peripherally, he saw the Daughter slap both twins on the head and whisper threats involving bats and 'boogeys', with a personality at odds with the one she displayed earlier. He raised his eyebrows. Interesting.

"Ah, I believe we haven't been properly introduced yet," the thin, balding Weasley rose from his seat where he had been conversing with Ron. "I apologize; my work kept me busy. I'm Arthur Weasley. You're Naruto Uzumaki, right?" Arthur, asked, extending his right hand. When Naruto made no move to take it (_What was he supposed to do with the hand?_), Arthur retracted it sheepishly. "Or is it Uzumaki Naruto?"

"Naruto is fine, Arthur-san," he answered.

"Naruto, then!" The man clapped a hand to his shoulders, the action making Naruto flinch slightly. "So, Molly tells me you're Japanese. I think it's an absolutely fantastic thing that you're here. Aren't Japanese really good with whatchamacallits—technology? What's it like where you live? Do you have elecriticy? How about fellytones? And those portable fellytones, cellphones I believe?"

Naruto's mind flatlined for a moment. In his mind's eye, he could envision Gai shouting about the Springtime of Youth, and Geniuses of Hard Work. Fellytones, cellphones? What was the man going on about?

Thankfully, Molly nipped the impending 'Muggles are wonderful' rant in the bud, though Naruto wasn't yet aware of that.

"Arthur," she chided, setting the plate brimming with bacon on the table. "That's enough. Stop harrassing the poor dear."

"But Molly!" her husband protested, even as he took his seat again.

Naruto sat in the empty seat beside Ron and the blonde woman, whose name he couldn't pronounce properly. It sounded like 'flour', but he wasn't too sure about that. He was thankfully spared from further conversation, given that his two seatmates were pointedly ignoring him, or in Blondie's case, staring at his abysmal eating habits as he sliced his egg crosswise with a fork, scooped them individually, and deposited the egg piece into his mouth. He took some toast and bit into it absentmindedly, wondering when he could have a decent meal (with rice!) again.

With chopsticks too, he thought, looking at the array of gleaming utensils in front of him. Each one supposedly had a use, and you were expected to use two of them when eating, except perhaps when drinking soup. Frankly, he thought it was absurd. He had managed to do fine with chopsticks; he couldn't see the use in making his life any harder. So far, the fork was the only utensil he could live with. It was simple: stab or scoop, and eat.

"More dear?" Molly-san asked him from over Blondie's shoulder, effectively cutting off Blondie's excited chatter, not waiting for a reply and piling more bacon onto his plate.

"Thank you, Molly-san," he said politely, picking at the bacon.

Blondie looked affronted and glared at him as if he had caused the interruption of their conversation.

"Yes?" he asked her pointedly when she had not resumed the conversation with Molly-san, and Molly-san had turned to pester her daughter in relief. He took that opportunity to stab a slice of bacon (without bothering to cut it up) and eat it whole in front of her. The bacon, he noticed, was less salty compared to yesterday's. He would eat it a lot more if it always tasted like this.

"Nothing," she replied quickly, muttering some choice phrases in her mother tongue under her breath.

"So, Naruto, how old are you?" Arthur-san asked, apparently finished with the talk about some wizarding game with his son.

All conversations careened to an abrupt halt, and Naruto found himself the object of everyone's attention at the table. "Twenty-three, sir," he answered.

"My, you're as old as Charlie!" Molly-san exclaimed. "How long have you been doing your job? Charlie got his job right out of Hogwarts, bless him. This must be his fifth year at Dragon-keeping now."

"I graduated from the Academy when I was twelve, Ma'am."

"No, that's not what I meant, dear. I meant, how long have you been... well, come to think about it, what _do_ you do?"

Naruto stared at her blankly. "Didn't Dumbledore-san tell you?"

"Well, I didn't ask, seeing as you were so tired when you came through the Floo. I wanted to get you to a bed immediately."

Beside him, Ron snorted.

Arthur spoke up. "I believe Dumbledore mentioned you being a _shee-no-bee_ whom he hired to protect Harry. I was leaving just as Dumbledore introduced you. I was already running late for a meeting with Perkins, you see. The last thing I heard was Moody kicking up a storm about your trustworthiness, but he does that with everyone," he shrugged. "Personally, if Dumbledore trusts you, then there's no reason for us to doubt you."

"What!" the youngest red-head exploded. "Harry doesn't need a guard!"

Huh. So that explained the relatively warm welcome he received here, considering the general outcry against his presence in Grim Old Place. He could opt not to tell them, seeing what little knowledge they had about shinobi. But the truth would out anyway, and it was better to get things over with early. He opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted.

"Blimey," one twin spoke up in the sudden silence.

"Did you say shinobi as in—"

"—those secret military Japanese feudal lords used to hire?"

"Those blokes who specialize in warfare, assassination—"

"—espionage, and martial arts?"

"Fred, George!" Their mother scolded, highly scandalized. "Does Mr. Uzumaki really strike you as—"

But he beat her to it. "They are correct, Molly-san."

As Molly turned to face him, jaw hanging slightly open, he stood up and deposited his plate on the sink.

"Thank you for the meal," he said, sketching a shallow bow to his hosts, and fled to the abandoned sanctuary of the Third Son's room. As he left, the uncomfortable quiet was punctured only by the Twins' exclamation of, "Cooool!"

In the silence following the shout, not even Molly mustered enough voice to chide her sons.

.

.

.

NOTE:

I know Chapter 3's status on my profile said it was at 6.6k words, and this is woefully short of that estimation by around 2.6k words (this note is not included). My excuse? This actually a fourth of the actual Chapter 3. It started out as one-half of the total, then by the time February rolled around, it turned into a third, until it became a fourth of the original chapter (in my head anyway—I haven't written down all the scenes yet)… My brain just likes to add more and more boring scenes to this story. God. That said, I apologize for the length of time it took me to update. I can only plead difficulties regarding subjects like electromagnetism, integral calculus, and Fourier analysis. D:

To TwinTrouble, I was going to write a section in Chapter 3 illustrating Kyuubi and Naruto's relationship, but well, it didn't happen. So. It's the angry captive demon and struggling jailkeeper relationship. For some reason, grudging team doesn't work well with me (probably because I've never seen it being attempted properly before). Also, thank you for the information concerning the shichi/nana thing. :D

To InARealPickle, you're _good_. :P And I will read "People Lie" when I have the time. XD And concerning how Naruto will heal in Hogwarts, well, I'm still thinking that bit a little more thoroughly, actually. You know how things seem so simple in your head but when you start to write it down, it gets all messy? D:

To hard-bitten-confinement, I'm guilty of all charges. X) And honestly, I don't think I'm better than that. I was honestly surprised when I opened my mail and found some fifty-odd messages from (story alerts, reviews, favorite stories, etc.) FFnet just a day after I posted chapter 2. I _am_ taking more care with the things I put in IUP from now on, though I can't assure everyone it will be totally cliché-free, or something. Still, thank you for pushing me to write better. I hope I'll do better in the future. :)

To everyone who reviewed/faved/alerted this story, thanks very much. :D I daydreamed of getting a lot of feedback for IUP, but getting all this feedback is at the same time both exhilarating and extremely scary.

Also, to fans more obsessed with Harry Potter and/or Naruto than I am, I apologize for any deviations from canon and/or errors in the dates and miscellaneous details. If you can spot any, please tell me so I can correct it. :) I confess I've taken liberties with how the Fidelius Charm works (Naruto was able to enter Grimmauld Place because he was accompanying the Secret-Keeper even though he didn't read the note) because I don't know how it works, exactly. Fred and George are also supposed to be in their rented flat in Diagon Alley, but I wanted them in the chapter so let's suppose they visit the Burrow for days at a time. :)

And, regarding pairings for Naruto, I bow to the majority in this case. Naruto isn't going to be paired up with anyone.

Next chapter? I hope to have it out by March, but March is going to be hectic for me (fourth, fifth and final exams for my major subjects! ._.)


	5. Chapter 4: Life in the Burrow

Standard disclaimer applies.

**IN UNLIKELIEST PLACES**  
CHAPTER FOUR – LIFE IN THE BURROW

.

_**6 July 1996  
Saturday, 5:28AM**_

Naruto settled into the Burrow with little difficulty despite the initial excitement concerning his presence there. (Excitement was a bit imprecise. Even when he was ensconced in the Third Son's room, it had been easy to listen to Molly-san's indignant screeching for well over an hour about his presence in the Burrow, and just what _had_ Albus been thinking—hiring an assassin to protect Harry _and_ putting her family in danger?)

He found that most of the Weasleys fit the classic civilian profile when it came to dealing with shinobi. For the most part, they avoided him like the plague. When confrontation was inevitable, they spoke politely and after a few moments, always remembered that they had a prior engagement somewhere else. The only exceptions were Arthur and the Twins, but from what he could surmise, they were never the definition of normal.

And so, life in the Burrow settled into a somewhat comfortable, if quiet, routine.

Naruto spent it reading the old newspapers he had found in the Third Son's room, trying to get as much information as he could about the wizarding world. Which wasn't to say he read everything; most of the articles in the years of peace time were not of particular relevance to his current situation. Besides, he had never been much of a reader anyway. He eyed the pile of newspapers on the desk with distaste.

He found himself writing most of the recent history down in his report, for sheer lack of anything to write. More and more, these days, he wondered why Dumbledore had to hire a shinobi guard for Harry Potter. From what he could tell, the wizarding community had an elite police force called Aurors. Far more accessible and feasible than going all the way to Fire Country (where it was Naruto couldn't tell from the 'world' maps the Third Son also owned) and hiring a shinobi.

Dumbledore must have been really desperate for the protection of this kid. He could only imagine the outburst the old man would receive once the news came out that he had hired an assassin to protect... what was it again? Ah, yes, the Boy-Who-Lived. What a stupid name. Although the papers were calling him the Chosen One now.

He glanced at the half-finished paragraph he had just started writing on a fresh scroll, and let out an audible sigh. A week in the Outside and he found himself bored out of his mind. Then again, bodyguard missions were in the province of boredom; he really shouldn't be too surprised. He had taken to jogging around the perimeter of the Burrow early in the mornings. His excuse was training, but in reality, he was doing his best to take this sham of a bodyguard mission seriously.

Did Potter even need a guard? Granted, the boy's escapades were dangerous. Some of them were documented in the Daily Prophet, and apparently in his second year, he had battled a giant snake residing beneath the school. He hoped Dumbledore wasn't stupid enough to think that these happenings would stop just because he hired a bodyguard for Potter. Naruto was not going to be babysitting some cocky brat.

He eyed the newspapers littered on the Third Son's desk and promptly remembered yesterday's article about a prominent witch named Emmeline Vance being murdered in her own house. Huh. Perhaps Dumbledore did have the right idea, after all. This You-Know-Who character was getting bolder. An attack on Potter was not entirely out of the question.

It was rapidly becoming daylight, he noted, standing up and preparing for his daily jog. Most of the Weasleys were still asleep during this time, which Naruto found extremely agreeable.

He admitted that he had expected a change in their attitudes towards him, especially after that fiasco at the breakfast table. Still, he had been... disappointed at how brusquely Molly-san treated him nowadays; she was more abrasive to him than she was to Blondie, and that was saying something. It probably wouldn't have mattered if she did not treat him so well the first time around. He had to admit it had felt nice.

As if to make up for his mother's sudden coldness, the Youngest Son seemed to have gotten over his anger at him, although he wasn't in any way friendly. Perhaps it was because he had transferred into the Third Son's room some days ago.

The Twins were unusually quiet, if Molly's suspicious sideways looks at them were anything to go by. They always seemed to be whispering about him, and though it would take little effort on his part to eavesdrop on their conversations, he found he wasn't too interested in whatever it was they were planning.

Arthur, the only one who seemed unfazed by the sudden revelation of Naruto's job and the only person Naruto could stand to be around (and he meant that in the loosest sense—at least he could tune out the man when he went on his rants), was constantly out of the house on Ministry business, and, to a certain extent, on business for the secret group his employer controlled.

Blondie, or Fleur as he had recently determined, was always the first after him to take a bath in the mornings (he always showered after jogging), and this time was no different.

He opened the bathroom door, totally unsurprised to see her in a peach bathrobe (looking uncommonly pretty even though she had just gotten up), with a fluffy white towel hanging off her left arm. To Naruto's infinite amusement, it seemed that she had combed her hair even if she was still going to shower. _Women_.

"Took you long eenough," she told him in the same acidic tones she had always used on him. It would probably take more than the announcement that he killed for a living to shake her rock-solid notion of him as a barbarian. In a way it was refreshing, since anything he said probably wouldn't faze her at all.

He stopped toweling his hair, allowing it to stick up in odd angles, before replying, "It wouldn't hurt you to be a little more patient, Blondie."

Which probably wasn't the best course of action, since she made no motion of stepping aside and only ground her slippered feet harder on the floor, glaring at him. "Did you just call me Blondee? Are you making fun of me?" she hissed.

He shrugged as if to say, "So what?"

She managed to calm herself after a few deep breaths.

"I 'ave a 'ard time believing the twins when they say you are a 'ardened killer," she said finally. Her eyes traveled up his naked torso. When no reply was forthcoming, she continued, "No scars. I don't know 'ow you managed to fool the great Albus Dumbledore, but I don't think 'Arry Potter is going to get much protection out of you."

What a childish culture, Naruto thought. For all that she looked like a woman, she was still such a child. What was there to say? That not all scars were physical? Something as trite as that... if Lord Voldemort wasn't neutralized anytime soon, she would eventually learn that. Intimately.

"You should have more faith in Albus Dumbledore," he told her, gently shoving her aside and making his way to the Third Son's room.

.

.

_**6 July 1996  
Saturday, 4:36PM**_

Molly spied _him_ unwittingly de-Gnoming the garden that afternoon. She was just about to go check on the chickens when she saw his tall profile slouched on a short stool, bending over a basin and hand washing his clothes—an exactly identical set of white shirt and jogging pants.

'_Doesn't he have any other clothes?'_ she wondered. Not that she cared particularly.

It wasn't so much de-Gnoming as it was scaring the pants off the little, mischievous creatures. At first glance, Molly admitted she had found it amusing. After one Gnome had exhausted the man's apparently very limited patience, tugging at his pants and shirt, and throwing bits of grass into his face, he had pulled out a dark knife. And before she had registered any movement, it was right between the Gnome's shaking legs. This sudden action sent all surrounding Gnomes scurrying out of his immediate vicinity, their faces sporting uniform panicked expressions. Then he had gone back to washing his clothes as if nothing had happened.

Later on, though, it saddened her to think of what kind of culture he must have come from, for his first instinct to be violence, for him to have pulled that knife out in the blink of an eye, and to throw it with such deadly accuracy in the same breath. She knew Aurors trained themselves for that kind of accuracy, but spells were different from knives, and wands were not meant to be thrown. She didn't know what Dumbledore was thinking, hiring a person like that to guard Harry. The poor boy didn't need any more negative influences in his life.

These days, sometimes her thoughts drifted to Charlie, of sending him a letter to ask how he was doing in Romania. She entertained the notion of asking him to come back home and settle down, just like Bill was doing (with someone she didn't wholly approve of, but that was another issue entirely). It would be nice to have him in the Burrow, where she could see him every day, talk to him every day, just like old times when she watched him grow from a baby to a strong young man. But life didn't work that way. He wouldn't be pleased if she tied him down here; he was happiest when he was with his dragons, and Molly would rather that he lived the life he wanted.

Idly, she leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms against her chest and waited for Uzumaki Naruto to finish his laundry. She could have done the same job within minutes with a spell but she didn't feel like approaching the stoic man any time soon.

She didn't _hate_ him really. After all, he had seemed like such a nice, young man at first—and those blue eyes of his did remind her of Gilderoy Lock—'_Really, Molly!_' she berated herself—but she _did_ wonder what kind of statement he was trying to make with those six thin lines running across his face.

But when Fred and George informed her that he _killed_ for a living, she didn't know whether to cry or retch in the nearest toilet. Her children didn't understand it yet, and call her an overprotective mother, but she had rather that they never experience the horrors of war. His mere presence in her house was enough to trigger memories of the last War with Voldemort; she hated the feeling of insecurity pervading even her own home. It was bad enough when she went shopping in Diagon Alley nowadays, but in her own house…!

_Finally_, it seemed like he was done washing. She watched him tuck the basin under his arm, and stand up, back straight with a posture so rigid it reminded her of the strange unmoving, pictures of military men from her Muggle Studies class. The thought of armies made her start, and she began to detest Naruto's presence in her house even more.

It was bad enough that You-Know-Who had come back but now, it was as if Dumbledore was saying, "The War is here. We'd better get prepared." Hiring someone from an obviously militant society to guard Harry Potter merely reinforced the bleak future ahead.

She shook her head to rid herself of these depressing thoughts and wondered what she would serve for dinner tonight.

.

.

_**8 July 1996  
Monday, 1:54AM**_

_He could feel the blood thundering beneath the man's skin—_or was it his?_—as he tightened his grip around the other man's frail, frail neck. He could break it. Like a stick, bone was so easily snapped. The unsteady rhythm of blood pounded resoundingly in his ears, drums of war reverberated in his chest—_what the fuck was he doing? _he thought_, he shouldn't be doing this—

this wasn't fair—no no no not at all—they should be fighting like real shinobi—

_But what was a real shinobi?_

_The man squirmed in his grasp, trying to escape—__**foolish little mortal, my prey never escape**__—as his vision telescoped in and out and his breathing hitched. The feel of the man's soft, coarse skin twisting helplessly under his grip made him bare his teeth in anticipation, strengthening his hold on his prey, jarring a strangled shout from its throat._

_No._

_He shouldn't be behind this man, getting ready to kill him with a kunai to the back. He should be—_

—_doing his mission, the assassination of this man, who was secretly smuggling weaponry to Cloud among a myriad of other treacherous actions against Konoha._

Konoha.

_For Konoha. He was doing this for Konoha._

_He took a deep breath, and palmed his kunai, willing the bloodlust to recede. But his hands wouldn't stop shaking even as he positioned his kunai against the man's unprotected back—_he was wearing a bathrobe for fuck's sake_—straight at his heart and plunged—_

—and his eyes snapped open. He jerked up, his chest heaving up and down with difficulty. He was inexpertly gripping a kunai in his right hand with an intensity that drew blood. Sweat ran down his forehead, cooling down the suffocating heat that surrounded him. Eventually, his breathing calmed and he released the kunai, feeling the small wound close up almost instantaneously.

It was pitch black. Outside the window, the moon was hidden by the cloudy night sky, and the only bits of moonlight that shone through were filtered by the leaves of the tree beside the building. Naruto estimated it to be around one o'clock in the morning. His right arm reached around for the light switch. It was only after his third fumble in the dark that he realized he wasn't in ANBU HQ anymore and was, instead, at the Burrow, where the only person who had any inkling of what electricity was was Arthur Weasley.

He leaned back on the headboard, sighing. It would be hours 'til light.

.

.

_**8 July 1996  
Monday, 6:45AM**_

"You're up early," Arthur commented over a steaming cup of coffee later in the morning when Naruto entered the kitchen.

He raised his eyebrows at the thoughtless remark—he was always early and Arthur knew this.

"So are you, Arthur-san," he replied politely. He found the object of the red-haired man's focus seconds later when he spotted the day's newspaper lying spread out on the table, the headline simply reading, "Amelia Bones Murdered."

Ah.

Arthur noticed his gaze and sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Two deaths in a week, and one of them a very prominent Ministry personality at that. Skeeter's having a field day," he remarked, pointing to the column featuring Rita Skeeter's scathing article. He noticed the large eye bags forming underneath the man's eyes; clearly Arthur hadn't gotten much sleep lately. Well, that made two of them.

"Lord Voldemort has been getting bolder," Naruto confirmed, picking a corned beef sandwich from the large plate at random. "It was Emmeline Vance three days ago, wasn't it?"

The redhead winced when he mentioned the name Lord Voldemort. Honestly, what did these wizards expect? Giving childish names to their society's worst menace just gave it the illusion of being unimportant, as if the problem would go away if you refused to call it Lord Voldemort and called it You-Know-Who instead.

"For someone who's only been here a week, you're very updated," Arthur said vaguely, finishing his coffee. "Yes, Emmeline Vance. I knew her. Fudge's going to get the sack soon with the way he's handling things. Everyone's in an uproar."

He had no real opinion on Fudge (or on any of the wizarding world's more famous personalities), but the actions he had taken did make him something of a coward, or perhaps just an idiot. He settled into a chair opposite Arthur's with the corned beef sandwich in his hand only partially eaten. At Arthur's distracted nod, he picked up the newspaper and started reading. He had reached the part where Fudge made a statement about allowing more applicants to pass the Auror training in order "to battle the rising tides of Darkness and eradicate evil once and for all," when the Twins and the Youngest Son stumbled sleepily into the kitchen.

"Mornin' Dad," they mumbled, slumping into the rickety chairs at the dining table. The sight of food seemed to break the Youngest Son out of his sleep-induced haze and he started wolfing down a sandwich.

He didn't need to glance at the Twins to figure out what they were doing.

'_Any moment now…_' his mind supplied dryly.

"Naruto! How's our favorite shinobi doing today?" they chorused, slapping an arm each over his shoulders. Naruto had to forcibly restrain himself from reacting badly. Whether the twins noticed the sudden stiffening of his muscles, he didn't know because they kept their arms firmly where they were.

"Fine," he bit off.

"Boys, what are you doing?" Molly asked angrily, hands on hips. "I go out for _five_ minutes and you're causing a ruckus at the breakfast table _already_?"

Naruto noticed that she didn't say anything about them stopping. The Twins took the hint anyway and went back to their seats.

"Aw, Mum, we were just trying to cheer Naruto up!" one twin said.

Molly spared him a glance. "Well, he looks perfectly fine. Here, have a sandwich," she said, shoving another sandwich into Naruto's hands, ignoring the fact that his first sandwich was still uneaten, and hurrying to the kitchen sink.

Arthur sent him an apologetic look, nodding in Molly's direction, and vainly tried to suppress a smile.

"Arthur!" Molly called from over her shoulder. "I almost forgot—Perkins is on the Floo!"

"Right, coming!" the red-haired man said, scrambling out of his seat and patting his thinning crown of hair. "Do I look all right?"

"Looking peachy, Dad," the Twins said.

The Youngest Son shrugged and mumbled, through a mouthful of sandwich, "What they said."

One of the Twins strode over to the cabinet where they kept the food—_pantry_, his mind supplied—and pulled out a pie. He plunked it down in front of Naruto, who was wondering when the best time would be to make his escape.

"It occurs to me that you have never experienced the wonders of blueberry pie," he told the puzzled blond, elegantly flourishing a wand to slice him an eighth of the total.

Sighing internally, he decided that it would be better to go along with whatever the Twins were thinking. Besides poison, he couldn't really think of anything else that was harmful to put into food. And if it _were_poison, well, his body had coping mechanisms, if it came to that.

Strange that the insides of this _blue_berry pie didn't look anything blue. Perhaps it was just a cultural quirk.

"Oi," Ron started, looking alarmed. "You're not seriously—That isn't—"

But Naruto had already bitten off a piece. It didn't taste like it had poison. It was good, but he was sure he could go on living without having tasted "the wonders of blueberry pie."

He opened his mouth to tell them so, but what came out was an indignant... squawk?

_What the fuck—_?

Then he noticed that the Twins were on their knees, laughing uproariously, banging their fists on the floor and pressing their arms against their stomachs. The Youngest Son was trying to suppress his laughter in vain, but he burst out in a fit of chuckles a few seconds later.

"Boys…" Molly started, but he could see the edges of her mouth twitching upwards before she hid them with a hand and turned around, back heaving up and down in amusement.

Naruto knew he would regret it when he looked down and examined what he had become. Feathers, bright yellow feathers adorned every inch of his body. They had turned him into a _bird._He was going to_kill them_.

Growling whilst he was currently a bird was not advisable as it sent the Weasleys into another wave of laughter. Or he could continue and they would die of lack of oxygen. It was an appealing thought.

"It's bloody eight o'clock in the morning," the Daughter snarled, wiping the sleep out of her eyes. "Could you _please_ keep it _down_?"

And then she saw the large, irritated canary in their kitchen. Approximately two seconds later, she burst out laughing as well.

.

.

_**9 July 1996  
Tuesday, 2:13PM**_

"Mate, don't you have any other clothes?" one of the Twins asked him a day later.

Naruto was in the middle of reading an article on Rufus Scrimgeour, the new Minister of Magic,—the public hadn't bought Fudge's weak attempts to placate them and filed for an impeachment—so he was reasonably distracted when he answered, "Huh?"

"You know," Fred, or George, or whoever it was (like it mattered with those two) said, slowly, as if speaking to a one-year-old. "Other clothes. I know it's a foreign concept but clothes that aren't white-shirt-and-jogging-pants, or blue-suit-and-bulky-jacket."

He opened his mouth to tell them, "Yes," since he still had some of his ANBU uniforms stashed somewhere in his scrolls, but thought better of it.

"No," he answered. '_Why did it matter anyway?_'

"Don't you want other clothes?—"

"No."

The Twins plowed on relentlessly. "Cause George and I were thinking of going to Diagon Alley today to, you know, check on our joke shop, and if you want, you could come along and shop for clothes."

_For the last time…_"No."

"… Err, right. C'mon Fred."

.

.

_**10 July 1996  
Wednesday, 10:03AM**_

_The sun is hot on his back. Up here, the breeze is strangely still and he is sticky with sweat, feeling robbed of breath as he wipes the paint off the Sandaime's face._

_Above him, Iruka sits on the rocky edge of the Hokage Monument, scratching his cheek._

"_If you clean this up, I'll buy you ramen tonight," Iruka tells him, and he feels no desire to stop the smile from stretching across his face as he babbles some form of thanks._

_Blood rolls down on his right cheek. Iruka is again, above him, coughing up blood. Something wet drops onto his face, and he thinks it is blood, but when he looks up, Iruka is crying._

"… _sorry—if I had done a better job, you wouldn't have to feel like this—"_

_He is leaning against a tree, clutching something close to his hunched body. His breaths are shallow and he tries to make them as silent as possible. In the clearing behind him, Iruka is speaking._

"_But Naruto is different."_

_He feels his heart wrench, painfully full of something he cannot identify._

"_He is one of my best students. He may not be the hardest worker… and he's clumsy so nobody accepts him, but… he isn't the demon fox—he is a member of Konoha. He's Uzumaki Naruto."_

He suddenly blinked open his eyes, waking to the sound of chickens clucking outside. His room was bathed in sunlight, and a cursory glance told him it was probably around nine in the morning. Naruto ran a shaky hand through his hair, drawing a deep breath, ignoring the cool traces of tears on his cheeks, then buried his face in his hands, feeling strangely undone.

A knock on the door jarred him from his thoughts. The Youngest Son's face poked through the small opening, looking a bit annoyed about something.

"Doesn't he go hang out in the garden?" Naruto heard him mumbling to himself grumpily. Out loud, he said, "Dad's looking for you. New Ministry policy—he needs to straighten some things out with you."

"Okay," he answered absentmindedly and the Youngest Son went out, his clumsy footsteps echoing down the stairs until it was silent, and Naruto finally shook his head to clear his thoughts. Standing up, he noticed a brown package on the table. One corner of the table was charred—someone had probably tried to tamper with one of his sealed scrolls. The question was who—and why he hadn't woken up when he or she entered the room.

He picked the package up—it was hastily wrapped and rather soft. A note was scribbled on the white paper attached to it.

_Had a good night's sleep? Even ninjas  
need their beauty sleep too!  
Don't bother looking for your clothes.  
We'll send them back when we've made  
the proper adjustments. You really  
should have just accompanied us to  
Diagon Alley, mate._

_Gred and Forge Weasley_

_PS. Mighty paranoid blighter, aren't you?  
Those scrolls pack a mean fireball!_

He channeled a bit of chakra into the paper and was immensely pleased when it ripped into pieces. He was half-tempted to do the same to whatever was in the package, but the Twins had made good with their threat and there was only a lone jounin uniform left on the hangers.

He tore the brown packaging off and felt his eye give a mad twitch when he realized he was holding a bright orange _thing_ in his hands.

"Orange is definitely your color!" the other note (attached to the cloth) read. "Totally brightens up your day, doesn't it?" Fortunately, he was relieved to find out that there were some other clothes tucked under the orange robe, and they were… _acceptable_—but the Twins still had a death wish.

Naruto made for the kitchen, determined to make the Twins suffer—perhaps Kakashi's _Sennen Goroshi_ would deter them from any future mischief.

As he neared his destination, he noticed that the kitchen was unusually noisy.

"Ah, Naruto!" Arthur called, waving a hand to welcome Naruto inside. "We've been looking for you!"

"What happened?" he asked the man.

"What happened?" the redhead echoed blankly before understanding dawned. "Oh, nothing so serious. You know Rufus Scrimgeour, the new Minister of Magic?"

He nodded, silently looking for sign of the Twins in the busy kitchen. The Daughter was peeling potatoes by the sink, while Blondie sat on the knee of a tallish redhead (a Weasley progeny he hadn't seen before but who looked familiar—he must have been in the meeting last week) who was busy engaging the Youngest Son in a game of chess. Molly sat beside Arthur, practically glowing with happiness. Arthur himself was looking pretty pleased. The Twins were nowhere to be found.

"Well, the Minister has been encouraging people to take extra care in these dangerous times," Molly supplied. "And Arthur's just been promoted to the head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects so he needs to set up an example for the people reporting to him."

'_Office for the Detection of what and what?_' Naruto thought, staring at the pair blankly.

Arthur waved a hand. "It's not that big of a job, honestly. Though I do miss being in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts…" he coughed. "Well, Molly's right. I do have to set an example—and it says here in the Ministry leaflet "Protecting Your Home and Family Against Dark Forces", item number four, that we have to agree on security questions with close friends and family so that we can identify Death Eaters masquerading as us."

"You're the only one we haven't asked yet, dear," Molly said, smiling slightly. His brief stint as a canary had definitely softened the woman's view of him.

"What's the security question?" Naruto asked. It was good to know that wizards actually thought. Security questions or catchphrases, and secret handsigns were a good way of identifying each other. Of course, seasoned infiltrators could easily impersonate someone else, but he would take what he could get from them.

"That depends on you," Arthur replied. "Dearest ambition?"

No one had asked him that question in a long, long time but he could feel his mouth forming the phrase, "To become Hokage!" as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Was it impulse? Was it etched into his brain by the sheer number of times he claimed it when he was younger? Or was it just a side-effect of that dream he just had? _Stupid._

"My favorite food is ramen," he told them. _What were the odds of anyone finding that one out?_ "By the way, where are—"

"Hey, you're Naruto right?" The tallish redhead had approached him, extending a hand. Naruto had absorbed enough Outside culture to know that he had to shake it, so he awkwardly stretched his right arm and weakly shook the other man's hand. "Bill Weasley, Curse Breaker for Gringotts."

"Uzumaki Naruto," he replied.

"Yeah, we've met before. Or rather, I saw you at the meeting last week. Unfortunately, I was busy with this bloody intricate ward on the Malfoy vault—they're a paranoid bunch, though with that much money you can't really blame them… You probably have no idea what I'm talking about, huh?" he told Naruto, grinning. Naruto noted his rugged look, with long red hair tied up into a ponytail and a sharp tooth hanging around his neck.

Naruto offered him a polite half-smile. "No."

"Ee is my fiancée," Blondie butted in, slinging a possessive arm across Long Hair's waist.

_To retort or not to retort._ _What the hell_, he thought, _I'm relapsing into my Genin self._

He fought the urge to change his facial expression into something that could properly express his disgust. Instead, he faced Long Hair. "My condolences—or was it congratulations? I am sorry, my English is limited."

Before they could register his shit-eating grin, he had immediately turned around to find Molly to ask her where the Twins were, so he could only hear Blondie's outraged gasp, and Long Hair's amused chuckle. Irritating people was still as much fun as it had been, apparently.

Both Molly and Arthur were no longer in the kitchen but were instead at the front door, together with the Youngest Son. Maybe the Twins were back from wherever it was they were at?

"Who's there?" Arthur hollered over to the person behind the door.

"Wotcher Arthur! It's Tonks, bringing Hermione," a feminine voice answered.

"If you really _are_Tonks…"

"Oh god, not you too," the voice groaned while Arthur laughed. "Brown. My real hair color is brown."

"All right. Hermione?"

"What did we save you from in our first year?" Ron asked.

"_Honestly_, Ron, if I were a Death Eater I would have researched that!" A new voice, more feminine and high-pitched, piped up.

"That's Hermione all right," the Youngest Son concluded, grinning. "You can let her in."

Molly opened the door to welcome two females. One was taller, a lanky, pale female with mousy brown hair and a heart-shaped face. The other looked to be around the Youngest Son's age but was at least a head shorter than him, with a brown bush for hair—_Bushy_, he christened her mentally.

"Tonks!" Molly exclaimed, grabbing the older female's shoulders. "You look a fright! Haven't you been eating properly? Look, you've gotten so thin! Have you eaten breakfast yet? Come in, we're having ham and egg."

And thus the Weasley matriarch dragged Tonks to the kitchen despite the latter's protestations. Naruto suppressed a sigh, glancing at the busy Burrow, and decided it would be too taxing to interact with anyone at the moment. Turning around, he retreated up the stairs.

_Too many things happening, but nothing_really_happening. I wonder when Potter is making an appearance? Dumbledore-sama said something about him arriving in two weeks—and the second week is almost over._

.

.

_**10 July 1996  
Wednesday, 10:48AM**_

As soon as she could, Hermione pulled Ron into a corner.

"Who was that?" she asked, nodding significantly in the direction of the stairs where she had last seen the tall blond man.

"Nice to see you too, Hermione. Thanks for asking about my summer." Ron deadpanned.

"I'm serious!" she whispered, shaking his left shoulder.

"When _aren't_ you serious?" the redhead grumbled, scratching his nose. "Anyway, that was Uzumaki Naruto. Came all the way from Japan under Dumbledore's orders."

At Hermione's expectant look (and foot-tapping _and_hands-on-hips posture), he looked at her blankly. "What?"

The girl jabbed him in the ribs. "Well, what's he doing here? Order business?" she demanded.

"Something like that, yeah," Ron said, rubbing his chest while leveling an unkind look at Hermione. "He was hired to guard Harry."

"… Oh."

"Oh? That's all you have to say? So you think Harry needs a guard as well?"

"What are you getting so worked up about, Ronald? I mean, if _Dumbledore_ thinks Harry needs a guard… And besides, what if it were true—about the Chosen One business? Then Voldemort would surely be out to get Harry."

He scratched his nose again, agitatedly. "You believe that then? Well, I dunno… but how do you think Harry would take it?"

Hermione opened her mouth, a half-formed sound exiting her throat, and closed it again seconds later.

"My point exactly," the redhead concluded.

.

.

_**13 July 1996  
Saturday, 12:37AM**_

Harry dazedly followed Dumbledore out of the outhouse, ignoring the spider that had found its way into his hair. He felt like he was suspended in a vat of jelly—his body put on hold while his mind tried to sort out which emotion he should feel first: anger? Gratitude? That tiny worm of relief? Resentment? At what? Should he feel weak or protected?

Dumbledore's words rang clearly in his ears even now.

"_While you stay here, the Burrow has been given the highest security the Ministry can provide. These measures have caused a certain amount of inconvenience to Arthur and Molly—all their post, for instance, is being searched at the Ministry before being sent on. They do not mind in the slightest for their only concern is your safety. However, it would be poor repayment if you risked your neck while staying with them._

"_Which brings me to my last point, Harry. I have taken the liberty of hiring a guard for you. Please understand that I, along with the rest of the wizarding community, do not wish to see you harmed, and that is the sole reason I have hired Uzumaki Naruto, a ninja from Japan. This is not weakness on your part. If it is anyone's, it is mine._

"_I trust Naruto with my life, and I hope you do the same in matters concerning an adult's input."_

_Dumbledore's hand was heavy on his shoulder. Perhaps it was meant to be comforting but Harry didn't know what to think._

So caught up in his thoughts, he was suddenly surprised to be facing Molly Weasley's concerned face, the warm orange lights of the Burrow framing her face welcoming him.

"… gave me a fright, you said not to expect you before morning!"

"We were lucky," Dumbledore said, giving Harry a light push inwards. He stumbled inside, trying to make sense of the conversation between the two adults swimming above his head.

"Slughorn proved much more…"

Slughorn—he didn't even want to think what kind of DADA professor the rotund man would make. Hopefully better than Umbridge, but anyone was better than Umbridge really.

"Harry?"

He blinked to find a hand in front of his face. "Oh! … err, hi, Tonks."

"Mind wandering?" she asked, putting her Auror's robe on. Her grin looked forced, and Harry noticed that her general appearance kind of resembled his after Aunt Petunia had made him weed the garden the entire day without meals—exhausted and pale and definitely lacking the usual energy her bubblegum-pink hair lent her. It wasn't even a bright color now—only a drab shade of brown.

"Yeah, I guess," he said. "You all right?"

"Peachy," she said, not really looking peachy. "I better get going. Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly."

"Please don't leave on my account," Dumbledore interjected. "I have to be going; Rufus Scrimgeour and I have urgent matters to discuss."

Harry found himself staring at the Ministry insignia attached to Tonks' robes. Why couldn't Dumbledore have hired an Auror to guard him?

'Not that I_want_ a guard!' he thought moodily. 'Am I that weak that Dumbledore thinks I can't take care of myself?'

"Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Do take care of yourself."

Harry could practically feel the weight of the words Dumbledore had left unsaid. _Don't get into trouble, don't do anything stupid, your life is in more danger than ever… if you need any help, I have hired a guard for you._

To hell with this. _He_ wasn't weak. _He_ faced _Voldemort_, and lived.

_At the expense of what?_ a traitorous voice whispered to him. _Cedric Diggory's life? Sirius Black's life? Pathetic, Potter._

Mrs. Weasley softly closed the door behind her and faced Harry, scrutinizing his appearance.

"Both you and Ron look as if you've had Stretching Jinxes put on you," she concluded after looking him up and down. "Ron needs new school robes; he's grown at least four inches. It seems like you need new ones too, dear. But enough of that—you don't look well, Harry. Have you eaten dinner already?"

"Uh, yeah," Harry replied. He knew he _had_eaten, but he couldn't remember what it had been. Something not very filling, as usual.

"Well, clearly those Muggles aren't feeding you enough!" Mrs. Weasley huffed, steering him to the dining table. "A growing boy like you… Sit down, dear, I'll fix something up in a jiffy."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he said, smiling softly. Suddenly, a furry, ginger cat jumped into his lap and settled there, nestling its squashed face in the folds of his loose shirt.

"Is Hermione here already?" he asked, scratching Crookshanks' ears.

"She arrived the day before yesterday," she replied amidst the noisy clanging and bubbling sounds he had long since learned to associate with Mrs. Weasley's busy kitchen. He could feel his smile getting wider. His friends were here!

A minute later, he had a bowl of steaming onion soup in front of him and Mrs. Weasley was gathering two fat slices of bread from the self-slicing loaf. He accepted them gratefully, watching both the loaf and the knife fly back to the pantry in fascination.

"So, you persuaded Horace Slughorn to take the job?" she asked, sitting down opposite him.

The steaming onion soup in front of him and the bread, alongside Mrs. Weasley's warm banter was about as effective as a lullaby (not that he'd ever had one, but it couldn't be too hard to imagine). In a few minutes, Harry was ready to fall asleep.

"'s great, Mrs. Weasley…" he slurred out when she mentioned Mr. Weasley getting a promotion.

"You are sweet!" she said, smiling. "Oh dear, you must be exhausted. And look at the time! No wonder you're falling asleep on your feet. Come on, Harry. You'll be bunking in Fred and George's room—I've gotten it all ready for you. You'll have it all to yourself."

Harry stood up sleepily, leaning against the table to support his weight. "Why, where are they?"

"They just left a few days ago. They've got a flat in Diagon Alley now, next to their little joke shop… I didn't approve at first, but I must say business is booming for them. Oh look, Arthur's coming!"

He blinked at Mrs. Weasley's strange clock, the one that showed the various names of the Weasley family. Arthur Weasley's hand was now at Traveling.

A knock. Mrs. Weasley had jumped up and hurried to the door, pressing her face against the door, whispering, "Arthur, is that you?"

It was probably a good thing Harry was feeling so sleepy. In all likelihood, he would forget Mrs. Weasley's mortified whisper of "Mollywobbles," in reply to Mr. Weasley's question when he woke up the next morning. Probably. He did _not_ want to remember it in any case.

He just wanted to forget everything that happened this evening… like his guard.

It was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice cold water on him. Where _was_ his guard? Did the Weasleys know anything about this Uzamaki Naroto person? Naruto, whatever.

"My guard—" he blurted out suddenly. "I mean, is my guard here?"

"He is," Mr. Weasley said. "But he's—well, he's probably asleep at this hour…"

"Oh, Harry, don't worry about him right now. Come, you should get some sleep."

He let Mrs. Weasley drag him up the stairs and into the twins' room where she tucked him into bed. Harry comfortably fell asleep listening to her endless stream of whispers.

.

.

_**13 July 1996  
Saturday, 9:11AM**_

Harry's fist was curled against the door of Percy's room—Uzumaki Naruto's room for the time being.

"_You sure you don't want us to come with you, mate?" Ron had asked when he had expressed the desire to talk to his guard._

"_I'll go by myself," he said. "He can't be that bad, can he?"_

_Hermione shrugged. "I only ever see him around during meal times, and he and Mr. Weasley are always talking about politics. If he talks at all, that is."_

"_Dunno," Ron said helpfully. "Never talked to him. He's one serious bloke, Harry. Fred and George claims he's a trained assassin, but…"_

"_Oh, I don't know about that trained assassin business," a new voice offered. Harry looked up to see Ginny Weasley at the doorway, eyes shining with amusement. "But he makes a pretty good canary if you ask me."_

_Both Weasleys burst out into laughter. Harry looked at Hermione in confusion, but his best friend shrugged as if to say, "I don't know what's happening either."_

Come to think of it, he didn't know what to say.

"Go away and leave me alone," was good but it probably wouldn't be tactful to say that into his face. How did he know he could even trust the guy anyway?

He started to lower his hand. Maybe he'd see him later, during lunch, and he'd pull him aside to… talk. Maybe he could convince the guard to abandon the mission and leave him alone. He could already picture Malfoy's lazy smirk once the Slytherin had learned he had a guard following his every move.

"Couldn't trust you to make it through the year alive eh, Potter?"

It morphed into Snape's voice. "And here I thought your status as a celebrity could go no higher, but it seems your arrogance knows no bounds. Just like your father."

It was bad enough when he was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. But now he was Harry Potter, the _Chosen One_ with the guard to ensure he would live in order to defeat Voldemort. _Pathetic_. He gritted his teeth. Why did Dumbledore do this to him? Why was he so weak that he needed a guard?

He glared at the door. Without warning, he raised his hand and knocked loudly.

Seconds passed. He knocked again.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

Still no answer.

Slowly, he opened the door, wincing when it creaked. The room was empty.

He released the breath he'd been holding. So he'd go with the other plan and corner the man at lunch or something. He closed the door and made for the kitchen. On second thought, maybe Hermione and Ron were still waiting for him in Fred and George's room. He changed his course at the last minute.

What he found in the room, however, was not his two best friends but a large, blond man casually sitting on his school trunk. His stomach gave a little jerk, and then froze.

Uzumaki Naruto hid the star-shaped object he had been fiddling with, and locked gazes with Harry.

"Harry Potter," he said by way of greeting.

Harry just nodded, knowing that if he opened his mouth right now, only a garbled sound would emerge. This was crazy, he thought. The man was just _sitting there_, looking for all the world like a Muggle (if only because of the conspicuous lack of robes). He didn't have a wand in sight, nor a place where a wand could be hidden and not be broken in half. And yet his senses screamed _danger!_

It took him a moment to realize that he had drawn his wand, and was holding it in half-raised arm at his side. Maybe that was why Uzumaki looked so amused. So he _was_ a Muggle.

"Has Dumbledore-sama informed you about me?"

_Dumbledore-sama?_ Oh right, the man was Japanese. How did Dumbledore expect this guy to _protect_ him again?

"Yeah. Yeah, he did last night."

"Good, that saves me the effort. I just wanted to clear some things up with you," he said. "Look, most clients don't realize that their chances of survival rest mostly on keeping _away_ from danger. So if you still want to be alive by the end of this year, I hope you have better sense than some of the clients I've had."

"Right. Sure."

"Okay, so… my name is Uzumaki Naruto, or Naruto Uzumaki for you wizards, but feel free to call me whatever you want. I'll generally be shadowing you, or stay in close proximity depending on the situation."

"Look, thanks for the advice but I really don't need a guard," Harry said slowly, taking a deep breath. "I can take care of myself; I've survived for years without a guard and I'm not about to start needing one now. So can't we just… terminate the contract or something?"

"Sorry kid, but you'd better get used to me. My contract is with Albus Dumbledore, not you. In any case, a contract can only be terminated when the mission is completed, or if you take the issue up with my village's leader."

How could the man sit there so casually? Didn't he understand he couldn't possibly survive in the magical world? He didn't have a wand—he didn't even know how to use one.

"Well, we have to figure something out because you can't possibly protect me from something you can't even use. You're going to end up _dead_"—_like Cedric and Sirius_—"if only because you stay so close to me."

Naruto rolled his eyes. "Stuff it, kid. You think something like that will stop me? I'll live."

"_You don't understand!_" Harry shouted. "He'll kill you—you're defenseless against magic!"

The man stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his bulky grayish-green vest. He slowly walked towards Harry and plucked Harry's wand out of his outstretched hand.

"And you," he said, blue eyes calm and mocking, "are defenseless against _me_."

He was suddenly aware of a cool, flat surface that was pressed against his neck. His heart pounded in his ears. When had he pulled out that knife? He tried to move but he could hardly even breathe—this man wanted to _kill him_.

And he could. The realization hit Harry like a Bludger to his gut. _Dangerdangerdanger_ sang his senses.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, the pressure was gone. The air in the room was suddenly breathable, free of that suffocating, poisonous presence.

Uzumaki Naruto grinned at him, showing full rows of teeth. "You don't know _half_ of what I can do, so until then, stop underestimating me."

He tossed Harry's holly wand in his direction as he walked out the door. It clattered noisily against the wooden floor. It took some time before Harry picked it up with a shaking hand. It almost fell out of his grasp but he gripped it painfully, comforted by its presence.

He eventually made it into the kitchen where he found Ron and Hermione waiting for him, each holding a letter.

"Oooh, look, Harry, OWL results have arrived!" Hermione exclaimed, waving her letter in front of him.

"Hermione's been hyperventilating for the past five minutes—says she definitely messed everything up," Ron told him in a stage-whisper. "Where's that leave us, huh? Here's your letter, mate."

He accepted the letter, casting a suspicious eye around the kitchen to check for Naruto, but it was empty save for the three of them. He released a breath, and slit open the envelope, unfolding the parchment that was inside.

_Care of Magical Creatures, E… Charms, E… Defense Against the Dark Arts, O…_

"Harry, you all right? You're shaking as badly as Hermione is."

"Oh, Harry, what happened?" Hermione asked, putting down her parchment.

"Did you get a bad grade?" Ron said, which earned him a smack on the head from Hermione.

"Did you get to talk to him?"

Harry nodded mutely, trying to put away the feel of that knife pressed against his neck, cold blue eyes. Ron was right; he _was_ shaking, and his hands were crumpling the thick, Ministry-issued parchment.

"Stay away from him," he said finally. "He's dangerous."

"Aw, come off it. Fred and George are always hanging around him, and he's never done anything."

"What did he do?" Hermione asked.

"Nevermind that," Harry said. "Just… stay away from him, all right?"

"All right, Harry," she said, the doubt in her tone clear. "So did you find out why Dumbledore hired a guard for you?"

"No, but—" he shrugged. Should he tell them?

"But you know something," Ron blurted out, latching onto Harry's sudden pause. "Is what the Daily Prophet's been spewing out true then? Are you the Chosen One?"

"Ronald!" Hermione hissed. "You're such a tactless—"

"Hey, I just wanted to know—"

"Guys, it's all right. I've been meaning to tell you anyway. Hermione, do you know a Silencing Charm?"

"Harry, you know we can't do underage magic..."

"_Please_, Hermione. This is important. I don't want this to be overheard."

"It's not a big deal," Ron interjected, frowning. "Fred and George used to do magic all the time; they turned my teddy bear into a spider, remember? Dad mostly told them off, and they've gotten a letter or two, but nothing really major. Dunno what's with the Ministry throwing a fit when Harry does magic."

She frowned at him but whipped out her wand and whispered a spell, her arm moving in an arc around them.

"Okay," she said. "It's secure now."

"So tell us already!" Ron urged.

He did. He told them about Dumbledore's private lessons, the fact that the Prophecy they found in the Department of Mysteries was not the only copy, how Dumbledore had let him see Trelawney speak the Prophecy in that deep voice, which confirmed that she was not faking it. He told them everything.

And by the end of it, Hermione and Ron were sitting a bit gobsmacked in front of him, and he felt a little bit lighter about the entire thing. The events of earlier were far from his mind.

"You know that we'll always be with you no matter what you do, right Harry?" Hermione asked. Harry smiled at both of them, picking up his crumpled OWL results and reading the rest of his grades. He felt his heart plummet when he saw his Potions grade: E. Snape only accepted students who had gotten an O. Looks like he wouldn't be an Auror after all.

"Here, swap," said Ron, offering him his parchment. Ron had gotten no Outstandings, and had failed Divination and History of Magic, but he had the feeling Ron didn't really care. Over the years, he had found that Ron was passionate only about one thing and that was…

"Hey, Harry, care for a game of Quidditch?"

… Quidditch. He grinned at his best friend.

"Honestly, Ron, all you ever think about is Quidditch!"

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said. "It's not so bad."

"Yeah, you're probably just sore because you still don't know how to fly even after all these years!"

Their bushy-haired best friend frowned at them, before raising both arms in the air. "I give up. It must be attached to the Y-chromosome."

"Y-chroma-what?"

"Y-chromosome, Ron. The thing that makes us male and Quidditch-crazy, according to Ms. Granger here. So, who's going to play with us?"

Ron scratched his head. "We-ell, I figured you could help me with my Keeping… going to try out for the team this year."

"All right, let me get my broom first."

All in all, Harry thought when he strode out of the Burrow, holding his Firebolt, the weather could have been better. There was little sun, and it was pretty windy high up. To make it worse, at the corner of his eye, Harry could see the guard (_his_guard) sitting under the apple tree, stoically watching his every move.

He mounted his broom and took off, hurriedly, wanting to leave the ground. Up in the sky, he imagined Naruto's blond head to be a large yellow flower growing in the Weasley's back yard.

"What's the hurry?" Ron asked, perplexed, handing him two Quaffles while he struggled to balance himself on his Cleansweep.

"Nothing, nothing," he replied, peering down to see where Naruto had gone. He spotted him on the rooftop, staring at him unblinkingly. Harry grit his teeth, willing his attention back to the game.

"Oi, mate, if you won't throw the Quaffle properly, we might as well not play," Ron told him, after he had dived down to catch the half-heartedly thrown ball.

"Harry!" Hermione called from below, cupping her hands together so she could be heard over the howling wind. A pause, and then, "You throw like a girl!"

… _what?_

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, 'Mione!" Ron hollered back. "Angelina throws a pretty mean ball. But if you were the girl in question, probably yeah."

He had to duck as a well-aimed Jelly-Legs jinx whizzed past his hair. "Oi! Watch where you're pointing that thing!"

"I am!" came the answering shout.

Harry chucked another Quaffle into his best friend's face, laughing for the first time in weeks.

.

.

OMAKE

"He-Herm..." He gave it up as a lost cause, and let loose an expletive under his breath.

"Try Herm-own-ninny," Ron suggested helpfully.

"Herm-own-ninny?" Naruto echoed blankly (and without much difficulty). Was that supposed to be an endearing nickname? It certainly didn't sound like one.

"It's Her-my-o-knee, thanks," Hermione said waspishly.

Ron sniggered.

.

.

NOTES:

[1] _Finally_. I bet that's what's going through your minds as well. :P I won't bother you with the gory details—suffice to say that academics takes priority over writing fanfiction. This turned out to be a pretty fragmented chapter, but I don't know how I could have remedied it. I finished half of the chapter before I realized how annoyingly fragmented it was, and by then I couldn't be assed to rewrite everything. So, apologies. The time stamps were something I placed to make me feel better about the entire thing.

[2] Why the Kyuubi didn't react to the Canary Cream: One, it would have ruined my attempt at humor. Two, he doesn't have extra-sensory feelers on Naruto's body; he feels what Naruto feels and acts on it. In this case, Naruto wasn't expecting any danger.

[3] Why Fleur doesn't affect Naruto that much: First, I somewhat subscribe to the notion that Veela can turn their—I suppose you can call it power on and off. Secondly, Naruto doesn't like Fleur so he has a resistance against her. Thirdly, Fleur doesn't like Naruto so the attraction falls off as dislike squared. (Ugh, I sound like my textbook.)

[4] No, Naruto wasn't supposed to get new clothes but please believe me when I say that Fred and George just take over my hands whenever I write a scene with them. They're crazy.

[5] Golden Trio dynamics have probably shifted because I have read too many fics, and remember too little canon to portray them realistically.

[6] **charredfeathers** made me fanart! **rowergal **also made me fanart, except hers is a fancomic. :D Please go check them out, and give them your love. The links are up in my profile.

[7] Lastly, a big thank you to everyone who has left a review and/or put this story in their Story Alerts/Favorites List! It's kinda scary looking at the numbers now; roughly 400 (I hesitate to say 500 because some people repeat) people are keeping an eye out for this story. o_O Hope I didn't disappoint.

**EDIT (5/30/09):** I added a small part to the last scene. _A.C.Y.P._alerted me to the fact that they're not supposed to do magic outside of Hogwarts, something which I totally forgot, but can't be helped. The whole underage magic is fuzzy and I think that the Ministry wouldn't be able to detect all sorts of underage magic especially when it's done inside a wizarding home. So there you have it.


End file.
